


Beautiful Trauma

by Motherof4dragons



Series: Coming Home [2]
Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: AU backstory, Angst with a Happy Ending, April is a bamf, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Jackson is smitten, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 43
Words: 85,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27106903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Motherof4dragons/pseuds/Motherof4dragons
Summary: Story is completely written and edited. Will post 2 chapters a week until finished!Bonded by a shared past. Forced together by circumstance. United by fate.What begins as an ordinary day for surgeon, Dr. Jackson Avery devolves into chaos following a mass shooting at the local mall. Despite the rumors about the tiny red headed savior, he’s more surprised than anyone to learn who risked her life to save others. Covered in blood and barking orders, there she is—April, his ex-wife, mother of his child, and now, a victim of a heinous crime.Dr. April Kepner is a warrior, but when tragedy strikes, she’s shaken to her core.With the shooter still firing, she thinks of nothing other than saving those around her. Now that it’s over, the warmth of Jackson's familiar arms gives her a sense of peace. Until it becomes apparent, some injuries are more than skin deep.Will this tragic event help these lost loves smooth out their differences and find their way to a new beginning or will the trauma be too much for them to bear?
Relationships: Jackson Avery & April Kepner, Jackson Avery/April Kepner
Series: Coming Home [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1330463
Comments: 80
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a redo of Coming Home. I have linked that story and encouraged everyone to come here to finish. I suggest you start from the beginning, as there have been some changes.
> 
> ****This story is AU in ONE area, which is Catherine's background. I made some changes to Jackson's family history. Just go with it. It's fun :)
> 
> Also, now that I'm thinking about it, the story is written in novel format, so someone who's never seen the show could pick it up and follow along :) sorry if some spots seem redundant. 
> 
> Music is such a big part of my life and was a massive part of me writing this story. My children would dance in the background of my office while my music fueled my writing for hours on end.  
> To better share with you the story of April and Jackson, I’ve put together a playlist available on Spotify. If a song gave me particular inspiration for a chapter, I’ve added that song to the chapter heading. I hope you enjoy listening to it as much as I did, putting it together.  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1la4R1a556EE7MNYHRwNoz?s  
> i=2S1aqseBRYeTey8ku-bE7A

**Chapter One**

## Jackson 

## Zombie – Bad Wolves

I’m in the middle of discussing today’s surgery with my patient and her family when I hear my phone _and_ my pager go off simultaneously. That’s never a pleasant sign. Giving my patient my best _Jackson Avery_ smile, I look at my pager, then swipe across the front of my phone. Both alert me to the same thing.

**_MASS SHOOTING ETA 15 minutes out._ **

I learned long ago to turn the news alerts off on my phone; otherwise, I can’t concentrate on my day without worrying about what my day could turn into. So, fifteen minutes out for us means the shooting most likely started a half-hour to an hour ago. Which means we need to haul ass.

I turn back to my patient and her family and put an end to our pre-op conversation.

“Excuse me guys, I’m so sorry. It looks like we have to put today’s surgery on hold, there’s been an emergency. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” 

I pat my patient on her back, shake her husband’s hand, and leave the room as quickly as I can.

I’m a reconstructive surgeon. I trained as a plastic surgeon, but I don’t jive with that title. I don’t work with plastic. I work with people. That’s not to say that plastic doesn’t have its place in what I do. Organic and non-organic materials alike have a spot of honor in every surgeon’s operating room. I believe each human has the right to feel good about themselves, and if that means they want some sort of implant, then more power to them. 

That’s not to say I don’t still do the occasional plastics job. As my old mentor used to say, “Liposuction keeps the lights on.” But my forte is reconstructive surgery. We take something that’s beautiful, but damaged due to life and circumstance, and make it whole once again. 

I specialize in burn victims and gender reaffirmation surgeries, some of the toughest life events any person will ever have to face. I’m to the point in my career where I can pick what surgeries I want, so I do the occasional pro-bono cleft palate surgery to make the soul feel good too. 

I’m also a board-certified ENT, but that only falls into play with burn victims and the occasional hard intubation in the emergency room. But no matter their specialty, a surgeon is a surgeon—and a requirement for working at a hospital like Grey Sloan is that you have to be proficient in trauma. We’re the largest hospital in the state, with trauma and burn departments that are world renowned. If you get hurt in the state of Washington, there’s a significant possibility that you’ll end up with us.

Heading out of the patient’s room and to the nurses’ station, I put the tablet back on the charging station then head to the surgery board where I know everybody will be meeting. Owen, though not technically in a position of authority, is up front leading the charge.

“Okay people, we have a mass casualty event; a shooting at the mall. We can expect most of the victims to come to us. We don’t have an estimate yet on how many there are, but it sounds like the shooter got a lot of rounds off before a civilian took him down. The ambulances are waiting on the all-clear to scoop them up. I want OR’s one through five on constant rotation. 

“Don’t take the time to make it pretty, people; get in and get out. All elective and non-emergent surgeries are canceled, and I discharged the patients that can be. Move all non-critical emergency patients to the clinic. The blood bank is sending up all available units. I want every surgeon in the pit in five. Get a move on it.”

I take the time to swing by my locker to hang my coat up, then head down to the ground floor.

***

“Avery, have you talked to April today?”

Owen stops and sticks his head into the trauma room where I’m just finishing up. Superficial injuries, but the patient cut herself fairly bad running away from the shooting—she had an eight-inch laceration that required stitching. Normally, I would have a resident or intern do it, but it’s in a visible spot, and I wanted it done right. Every wound I can repair properly now is one I won’t have to go back in to fix at a later date.

“No, why?”

“Because several of the victims are saying they were triaged on scene by someone who says they’re a doctor.”

“So what?”

“A short, red headed, female doctor.”

April Elizabeth Kepner is a former field surgeon and current Assistant Department Head of Public Health. She’s also the mother of my child, my ex-wife, and the probable love of my life. And yes, she is a short, red headed doctor.

We got the first wave of ambulances emptied and into the emergency department. I noticed that some patients have the trauma triage color codes written on their bodies, but I just assumed that they didn’t have the tags at the scene. However, that’s a trick they use in the military, and both Owen and I know it.

The chances of it being April are low, but I snap off my gloves and, stepping out of the room, pull my phone out of my pocket. We went to church together with Harriet this past weekend. She didn’t mention going to the mall this week, but then why would she? We may share a daughter, and, since her accident, we’re back to being close friends, but long gone are the days where I got daily reports of her plans and movements. After four rings, it goes to her voicemail. 

“Hey April, It’s me. Listen, I know this will sound weird, but there was a shooting at the mall. I’m sure you’ll have heard about it by the time you get this, and I bet you’ll get a kick out of this but some patients are saying they’ve been triaged by a red headed doctor. So now I’m worried about you. Call me back.”

The thought of her at that mall, despite how improbable that may be, makes my heart speed up a little. I shoot her a text too.

**_Jackson: Hey. Mass shooting at the mall. Check-in with me, please._ **

I debate sending a text to her husband Matthew, but I think April said he’s out of town, so I put my phone back in my pocket. Trying to shake it off, I head back into the fray.

***

“Next wave coming in, guys!”

I’m in the middle of assessing a middle-aged man with a gunshot wound to the thigh, through and through. Whoever is on scene knows what they are doing, that’s for sure. The patient’s belt wraps around his upper leg to stem the blood loss, and the words “yellow tag” are written in blue ink across his forearm. 

He told a more exaggerated story of the red-headed angel running into the middle of the bloodshed single-handedly saving every person she touched. The guy is seriously smitten. It’s one of the more extreme versions of the story of the woman I’ve heard today, and I’ve heard variations of the same thing from multiple sources over the last hour. 

The more we listen, the more I’m afraid it _is_ April. She hasn’t replied to my messages yet, and that’s not like her.

I’m assessing the patient in a trauma room with Dr. Meredith Grey, General Surgeon and one of my best friends, when we hear her.

“Twenty-two-year-old female, three gunshot wounds to the right arm, hip and thigh. Approximately two liters blood loss in the field. Two largebore IVs placed en route. Her driver’s license states she’s O+ so let’s get a trauma panel, type, and crossmatch and get blood hung. We also gave 4 mg of morphine. She’s unconscious, but she’s going to hurt like a bitch when she wakes up. I need ortho in here, stat; her pelvis is most likely shattered. Get me X-Rays and then let’s get her up to an OR. And someone find me a pair of scrubs please.”

April’s voice is authoritative and electric. The sound of it issuing out commands flashes me back to ages before. The ER is her domain, even if she hasn’t stepped foot in it for over two years. I can’t see her, but I can see the ERs response to her. Residents and nurses that know her are scattering in different directions to obey her orders. The interns in the room with me are watching the chaos in awe—this stranger who can waltz in and command everyone’s immediate obedience. 

April yells out louder than the other orders, “Also, someone find Karev to give me privileges!” I look up and meet Meredith’s eyes to see my grin echoed on her face. 

“Kepner’s back,” she says and snaps her gloves off to go help April.

Meredith takes two steps out of the trauma room and freezes, rocking forward on her feet in her sudden stop. 

“ _Shit_ ,” she says with passion, then quieter, “Jackson.”

I move to where she’s standing and feel the grin melt off my face. My blood runs cold. April is in skinny jeans and what may have _once_ been a Star Wars shirt. Her red Medusa-like hair sits on her head in a messy bun with hair streaming down around her face. 

_Blood_. There is _so much blood_. April is covered head to foot in plasma and gore. While most of it _probably_ isn’t hers, some of it certainly is. She has a bandage wrapped haphazardly around her left upper arm, and there is a slight trickle of blood dripping off her bent elbow. She’s wearing medical gloves, but it’s apparent from the distorted color of them that there is just as much liquid inside the gloves as outside. Seeing the blood all over her body, I feel all the blood drain out of mine.

“April, oh my god April were you shot?” 

Meredith’s the first to react, moving towards April and the patient.

She looks down at her arm like she’d forgotten about it and shrugs, hands still on the patient.

“It’s just a flesh wound.” She looks over Meredith’s shoulder, making eye contact with me. “Jackson, can you call the nanny and have her pick up Harriet today? Have them go back to your house. Matthew and Ruby will be at his parents’ house for the rest of the week. I told the paramedics on the scene to send all non-critical to St. Mary’s Hospital so we could concentrate on the critical here. 

“The first EMTs arriving tried to give me push back until Ben showed up, then they let me control the scene. Where’s my ortho consult?”

I’m standing here, chin on my chest, looking at her like an idiot. I hear her speaking, but none of it is computing in my mind. _She’s just so casual._ Like this is an everyday occurrence. 

Yes, rearranging childcare isn’t new, seeing how our entire community are doctors or in the medical field. But this—this _catastrophe_ she just walked in with? This isn’t our standard operating method.

_Wait a minute…_

Ben, _once_ brother in arms, knew she was there and didn’t bother to give me a heads up? As soon as I see him, I’m gonna kick his fucking ass. 

The sight of a nurse coming in with a set of scrubs spurs me into motion, settling my scattered thoughts. I reach out and take them from her.

“Meredith, take over the patient. April, come on, let’s get you stitched up.”

“Just throw some antiseptic on it, and I’ll worry about it later.” 

The portable x-ray is here now, and she steps back, putting the safety bib on while they take the pictures. I cringe at the amount of blood I see on the inside of her x-ray shield. It’ll need to be hosed down before they can use again it. Why am I worried about the x-ray shields? I wonder if I’m going into secondary shock, simply from the close contact of April.

“APRIL!” I bellow into the room, voice laced with all the fear and anger and frustration I possess. I _feel_ , rather than see, half the department stop and look at me.

When she turns to face me head-on, her shoulders slump, and her face softens from its hard lines. I don’t know what she sees when she looks at me, but it makes her acquiesce to my request. She nods sharply and removes her gloves, tossing them onto the floor with the rest of the trash.

Alex Karev comes into the trauma room grinning, arms crossed over his chest, light on his feet despite the situation. Alex is the head of the surgical department and another of our best friends. 

“You know Kepner, if you missed us that much all you had to do was call. There was no need to get yourself shot.”

April returns his grin ear to ear. 

“You know me, Karev.” She shrugs, falling back into rhythm like she never left us. “I like the drama. I’ll meet you guys upstairs, which OR?”

Karev’ eyes flick to me, and I read the concern in them with years of practice. I nod, not giving my okay but acknowledging that I’ll take care of her.

“OR 4 should be ready for turnover in twenty. I expect you clean and stitched before you enter my scrub room, Kepner.”

“Sheesh Karev, the power’s gone to your head, hasn’t it? Fine. Have ortho stabilize her before she goes up.” He shakes his head and chuckles at her bossiness. You’d think _she_ was _his_ boss, and not a visitor in his department. 

We walk out of the trauma bays towards the elevator when we hear Alex call out, “Good to have you back, Kepner.”

***

We head into the attendings’ locker room, and I walk straight through to the bathing area to turn on the shower. Putting the scrubs on the counter, I go back out into the lockers to find some soap and shampoo for her. She takes off her tennis shoes and examines them with a scrunched-up face before tossing them into the corner. Her t-shirt comes off and goes straight into the trash.

“That was one of my favorite too.” 

She has her hands on her jeans and is halfway through pulling down the zipper when she looks at me. It takes her cocking her eyebrow before I realize I’m staring at her half-naked. _God, she’s beautiful._ But that’s not what I’m staring at. Not today.

If our bodies are a road map, hers has taken some harrowing turns. I can see the faint outlines of chest tube scars, upraised and clear with the goo coating her. I see the jagged c-section scar low under her belly button above her panty line where they pulled our daughter from her body. The dried blood over her torso is horrifying. It had left weird patterns on her skin as it soaked through her clothing. She looks like a walking Rorschach painting. 

_Beautiful trauma_. 

This is the third time she’s almost been taken from me. 

The thought makes me sick. 

I put the bottles I took out of Meredith’s locker into the shower stall, then turn and pull her towards me. I embrace her harder than I mean to.

She’s married to another man and half-naked to boot. It’s completely inappropriate, but I can’t let her go. At almost a foot taller than her and considerably wider, I envelop her in my body. I want to stay like this forever, shield her from any future harm that may come her way.

“I know Jackson, I know.” 

Her voice is firm, but wavers at the end. She squeezes me back tight, then takes in a shaking breath. 

“ _I can’t._ I can’t fall apart yet, Jackson. There’s still shit to do. _We_ can’t fall apart yet.” 

She sounds like she’s on the verge of crying, but still, she doesn’t pull away, and I tighten my hold just a smidgen more. She runs her hands soothingly over my back, and I bury my nose in her hair. Even under all the blood, I can still smell her flowery conditioner. 

“I’m all right, Jackson. I’m all right.”

When I feel myself on the verge of cracking, I release her and covertly wipe the moisture from my eyes. 

“You shower, I’ll go get a suture kit. We have about fifteen minutes before they’ll be ready for you. I’m assuming you want to operate? You haven’t been in a surgery suite in a while.”

She meets me eye to eye, and her presence makes me forget she’s half my size.

“I’ve kept all my certifications up to date, done more continuing education credits than I’m required to. Boredom, mainly.” There’s that little one-shoulder shrug again. _It is what it is_ _,_ it says. 

“I still do a ride-along every quarter, as you well know. Plus, I think I proved today that my trauma skills are still sharp.” 

She points at me before she resumes the removal of her pants. “You need to change your scrubs too; you’re covered in blood now.” 

I look at myself and see that she’s right. Her bloody covered imprint is now on my shirt. It’s hard to tell from the inky color of the material, but I can see the strange patterns the wetness has left on the fabric.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” 

I pull her to me one more time and kiss her forehead, blood and all, then leave the bathing area and shut the door behind me. Leaning against the door after I close it, I try to gather my thoughts. April, my April, _was shot_. Never have I been so happy we got Harriet into that fancy preschool. I don’t know what I would have done if they had both been there. The thought makes my knees weak. 

But there’s a certain kind of luck about it, too. 

There are a lot of people alive right now because April was in that mall today. If Harriet had been with her, she would have been protecting our daughter instead of helping all those victims. The truth is, she’s a hero. Another wave of adrenaline or some other hormone shoots through me, and I force myself to calm down. I’ve been on the verge of a panic attack since I first laid eyes on her, but she’s right. _As usual._ Now is not the time. As the lady said, we still have shit to do today.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1la4R1a556EE7MNYHRwNoz?s  
> i=2S1aqseBRYeTey8ku-bE7A

**Chapter Two**

## Jackson 

## Wherever You Will Go – The Calling

_Get yourself together, Avery._

Scrubbing my hands over my head, I push off from the door and head out in search of a suture kit. When I see a supply cart, I grab supplies to draw some blood, too. With that much blood mixing over her, we’d better do some tests. _Rapid HIV, blood counts, STD’s, pregnancy,_ the works. 

_Oh, God._ The thought of April pregnant makes bile climb up my throat. I let myself into the drug closet and grab the lidocaine and some painkillers, then head back into the lounge and place it all on the table. I’m getting everything set up with a bottle of water for her when she comes out of the shower.

To my surprise, she has the scrub bottoms on but not the scrub top. April has the towel pulled around her torso, but they aren’t made to wrap around a woman’s curves, so there’s a damp line of bare skin showing from her shoulder to where the scrubs start low on her hip. She’s run her hair through the towel, and it’s hanging damp down her back, wavy instead of her usual beach curls. 

It’s darker that way, and I’m transported to a time when she would leave the bathroom like that, towel-dried and damp, and climb naked into the bed we shared.

_Shit._

I do not understand what has gotten into me, and luckily, she doesn’t seem to notice as she wanders over to the lockers. I should not be thinking of April this way. The only excuse I have is the stress and hormones pushing through my adrenal system at the thought of her being hurt at that mall.

“I had to toss my bra, I couldn’t put that thing back on, and I didn’t want to put on the scrub top until you stitched me up, in case I bled on it too. 

“As you can see, I kept the bandage on, and it’s pretty gnarly under there. Meredith used to keep a full change of clothes in her locker. Do you think she still does?” 

She pops the door open and bends down to the bag at the bottom. I’m having trouble following her conversations today. She keeps jumping topics without any warning.

“Aha!” she exclaims, so I assume she found what she was looking for. “Don’t peek.”

April drops the towel after she angles her back towards the door. She puts the bra on upside down and backward in that way that women do and rotates it to the front. 

Thank God she’s paying too much attention to what she’s doing and not paying any attention to me. I do the complete opposite of not peeking and stare at her as I have been since she walked into the ER this morning—until I feel my cock twitch, then I hastily avert my eyes.

When she comes and sits at the table with me, looking at her with Meredith’s bra on is worse than seeing her bare. Whereas April always favored bras with the firm cups that offered extra push, this bra is low and lacy, and I can see the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric.

Clearing my throat, I hand her the Tylenol and the water bottle and wrap the band around her good arm to draw her blood.

“Any chance you could be pregnant?”

“No. _Definitely_ not.” 

I ignore the wave of relief that passes through me at her firm assurance. It’s just because I hate the thought of her endangering an unborn child with her stunt today, not because I despise the idea of her having another man’s baby.

“I’m going to test for everything, okay?” Her only response is a nod.

That done, I turn her to the side so I have access to her damaged arm as it rests on the table.

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“Well honestly, this is all your fault.”

“MY FAULT!? _”_ I shout. “How so???”

“Well, you know Harriet starts soccer next week. I was going to go to Payless to get her cleats, and then I heard your voice in my head going ‘we can afford decent cleats’ So, I went to that specialty store in the mall that costs four times as much for the exact same thing.”

I scoff at her, then tell her, “This is going to burn,” as I unwrap her arm. She was right about it being gnarly. I know from experience that she has a high pain tolerance, but she must have a pain tolerance like one of her comic book characters because the wound is _nasty_. 

It’s ugly and jagged, and deeper than I feel comfortable with—more through and through than a graze in my opinion. But there doesn’t appear to be any muscle compromise, and she’s been using the arm okay. I grab the antiseptic to clean it.

I nod my head in her direction and tell her, “Go on.” Her face pinches tight for a minute, but whether it’s from the pain or the story, I don’t know.

“I was in line to pay when it started. I heard the first shot and froze, unsure about what I was hearing, but then the next started rapid and close together and there was no doubt. I dropped my bag onto the register counter and told the clerk to go hide in the back room. She told me to come with her, but I knew there’d be injuries. I’m a war-trained trauma surgeon, so…” she trails off and shrugs again, then winces. With the adrenaline fading, I bet she’s starting to feel it more.

“I grabbed a sharpie I saw on the counter and started heading in the direction everyone was running from. The shooter started in the food court, I think _._

“It’s a weekday, so it’s not as bad as it could have been, but it was bad enough. I was able to hug the wall and inch towards the firing. There were two civilians, ex-military from the look of them, doing the same thing. They told me to scram, but I told them I was an army surgeon, and if there were wounded, I was going to help. 

“I couldn’t get too close to the action for fear of being shot myself, but when he started strolling—he was walking as calm as could be Jackson, like he didn’t have a care in the world. That was more disconcerting than him opening fire. He didn’t seem mad or insane. He was just going for a stroll in the mall. With a bag full of automatic weapons.”

As a trauma center, we often see the results from the worst of humanity. I’ve treated rape victims and rapists. Assault victims and people arrested for murder. This isn’t even our first face-to-face with an active gunman. But this time feels different. Hearing her retell the story to me is haunting.

I don’t want to interrupt her, but something she says catches my immediate ire.

“ _Army Surgeon April?”_ I practically growl at her.

“I was in the Army for eight months, Jackson!” She immediately sounds defensive and protective, and I know that _she knows_ that is an extremely thin interpretation of the truth.

“No, April! You make it sound like you were GI Jane!” 

“I know how to defend myself, Jackson. I’ve kicked your ass once or twice, don’t forget.”

“On a _practice mat,_ April! Not against an active gunman!” 

She gives me back the dirty look I give her glare for glare, but she’s the first to break eye contact and I take that as a win. Turning to look at her arm, she continues with her story.

“He was going the opposite direction from us, so I started darting in and pulling wounded to the side, triaging as I went. I used the marker to tag them as I felt appropriate, did what I could to stop the bleeding or ease the patient with what little I had—which was nothing of course— and went on to the next one. 

“‘Mike and Ike’, we’ll call them, split, one on either side of the corridor, so when he dropped both guns to grab another pair, they went at him from both sides. That’s when I got hit. He got a spray off as he was being brought down and I’d gotten too close, pulling a victim with an abdominal wound to safety.”

She’s silent for a minute.

“They broke his arm. _Bad_.”

“Good.” 

Somehow, I keep my hands steady through her story despite my heart racing and my veins flooding with adrenaline. She didn’t just happen to be close to the shooting. _She ran into it_. The fucking mother of my children ran towards gunfire—with no regard for her, her family, or anyone who cares about her. I close my eyes and take a hissing breath in through my nose, willing calm into my raging emotions. I stretch my hands flat on the table trying to center myself.

I can feel her watching me. Waiting for my response. This will be a make or break moment between us. If I react wrong, this could end _very_ badly. I pull tranquility out of the surgeons’ vault, and when I reach for my supplies again, my hands are steady. I can physically see the tension flood from her body at my choice not to throw down with her. I’ll let it go. 

_For now._

“Here comes the stitching.” 

I’m going to kill her with my bare hands. I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry in my life, and lord knows April has done a lot to piss me off over the years. Her phone rings, and she picks it up then hits ignore. Less than twenty seconds later, it’s ringing again. Releasing an enormous sigh, she answers it. Her voice is overly perky, and it takes me off guard for a minute, helping to calm my raw nerves.

“Yeah, I heard about that. Crazy, huh? No. No, of course, we’re okay. I was thinking about going to the hospital though and seeing if they need any help.” 

There’s a lull in her side of the conversation here, and I can tell by the tightening of her posture that whatever is being said is making her less than happy. 

“Of course. No, you’re right, they don’t need me. Yeah. Okay. You too.” 

She puts her phone down and turns her face to me, giving me a half smile.

“I’ve been contemplating coming back to the hospital, have I told you that?” 

Her statement takes me by surprise. She hasn’t given me any indication that she was anything less than satisfied with her work at the clinics. I wonder if she’s told anyone else this.

“Matthew—he doesn’t want me to. If I told him about all... _this_ —” And here she uses her free hand and wiggles it around in the air, showing everything and nothing at once “He’d probably think I arranged the shooting on purpose.”

She tries to laugh it off, but I hear the disparagement under her tone.

“April, he’s your _husband_. Don’t you think he’d want to know you’ve been hurt?”

“I’ll tell him later tonight. It’s not a big deal, and you took care of me.” 

She says it with surety and confidence, then fixes me with a sweet smile. It’s a huge deal, but I’m in no position to push her. She’s right on one account. I’ll always take care of her. 

“Are we almost done?” 

She twists sideways to get a look at the wound. I could have done it a lot quicker, but I’m tired of seeing scars all over her body. I took my time. Hopefully, in a few months, we’ll only have the faintest memory that this ever happened. I put some gauze over it, then a bandage over that, then wrap some double-sided sticky wrap over everything. The need to continue to touch her, to reassure myself that she is, in fact, _okay_ is overwhelming. 

I push her hair behind her ears and cup her face in my hand. Instead of pulling away, she leans into it, spreading her fingers over mine and closing her eyes, breathing in deep. We stay that way for moments, or maybe years. I can’t tell. Breathing and ensuring each other of our presence. But time is ticking, and I’m sure they’ve started without her.

“Come on, O Trauma Goddess, let’s get you to the OR.” 

I pull her to her feet, watch her put her top on, and then follow her out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

**Jackson**

It’s calmed down some, and I’m in an OR with a woman who was shot in the throat. She got incredibly lucky, even more so that April was there. April used the woman’s shirt to pack the wound and her purse strap to secure it in place. She lost a lot of blood, but thanks to April’s quick actions she’ll pull through. She‘ll do better than pull through. 

By the miracles of miracles, it hit nothing major. She won’t be able to move her neck comfortably and with the same range of motion without months of physical therapy, but her airway and vocal cords were uncompromised. She told me on our way to pre-op that she’s never going to wear an unattractive bra again. It’s _all pushups, all the time,_ from here on out. If being upset that people are seeing her in her laundry day bra is the worst thing she pulls from this experience, I think she’ll do great.

I look up as the doors slide open as Maggie comes in with a mask covering her face.

“Oh my God, Jackson, I just heard April was at the shooting. How is she? Where is she? Is there anything I can do?”

“Oh, yeah. She’s in OR 4.”

“Jackson, are you okay? What can I do? Do you need me to pick up Harriet? Where’s Matthew? I didn’t see him in the waiting room.”

“No Jess, She’s _in_ OR four, as in she’s the one _performing_ the operation.

The doctor in the field who was doing all the writing on the patients?

That was her.”

“What? But I thought she’d been shot?” 

The reminder makes my anger spike, but I tamp it back down. “Yeah, well, she was. In the arm. But it was just a flesh wound.” 

_Of a sort._

April is sadly mistaken if she thinks we’re done with that conversation.

“Yup. She came in covered in blood, pushing a gurney and shouting orders as if nothing had changed. She didn’t even ask for an okay to operate, just told Karev she’d meet him upstairs.” I can’t help the smile that comes to my face. “It was kinda badass.” Ignoring the fact that she’s _April_ and could have _died_ , it was.

“Huh. April’s back in surgery.” 

Even with the mask covering most of her face I read the bewildered expression. 

Maggie and April will never have an easy relationship, but they’ve become friendly, if not exactly friends, in the years since April changed jobs, if only out of necessity. Plus, she’s heard the stories. April leaves an impression wherever she goes. 

“Well, okay, then. Are you okay with that?” 

I’m taken aback by the question. Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not like she’s working here full time again. Even if she was, she’s a great surgeon. She’s a fantastic asset to this hospital. The board would be pleased, at any rate.

“Of course, I’m great. Going to kill her for getting shot, but I’m good otherwise.”

She gives me a searching look, then nods her head. “Okay then, come and find me when you’re done here.

***

Karev is next to enter my OR. Alex Karev is my best friend and the youngest Chief of Surgery in the history of the hospital.

“Avery, you almost finished here?”

“Yeah, we were just getting ready to close. What’s up?”

“There are two men here looking for Kepner.”

“What? Who are they?” 

My head snaps up from the surgical field so fast I almost pull a muscle.

“I don’t know. The reception desk just called me. They didn’t know what to tell them since April doesn’t actually work here.”

“Go see them. Bring a cop with you. I’m sure there are still tons swarming around the place. I’ll be there in ten.”

 _Looking for April?_

Why are strange men here looking for April? Was there another shooter we didn’t know about? It can’t be Matthew, because he doesn’t even know she’s here. I tell the resident to close for me, then rush through my scrub out process. I slip into the gallery to make sure April is still in OR 4 and there she is, wearing one of my scrub caps and talking animatedly with Link. Hitting the intercom button, I ask, “Hey, how are you doing in there?”

“Jackson, you don’t need to check up on me. We’re doing fine.”

“Yeah, Avery, you didn’t tell me you were married to such a badass?” 

I’d forgotten Mr. ‘You’d Go By Link Too If Your Name Were Lincoln hadn’t yet started at the hospital when April left. I know they’ve had to have met before—at a party at least. But hours together in an operating room does tend to give you time to bond with your coworkers.

“That seems to be the consensus today. How much longer guys?” 

They look at each other and do that mind talk thing that all surgeons have, and both turn towards me simultaneously. “An hour,” they say in sync. 

“Nice,” says Link, nodding in appreciation. Great, April has another fanboy. I’ll just add him to today’s list. Rolling my eyes at the apparent amusement and juvenile pride exuding from the room, I hit the intercom one more time.

“Okay, thanks.” 

I find Alex in his office, sitting on the corner of his desk with his coat on that reads Chief of Surgery. The strangers are sitting in chairs in front of him. There aren’t any police around, so I take that as a positive sign. 

“Ah, here he is now. Daniel Lemming, Rick Thomas, meet Dr. Jackson Avery. This is Dr. Kepner’s husband. Dr. Avery, these are the guys that took down the shooter.” 

There’s a sharpness in his tone and something else that I just can’t place. _Husband_ , huh? So, that’s how we’re playing it. I’m good with that.

The guys stand up as Alex introduces them, and each reaches to shake my hand. I squeeze a little harder than necessary, but April was right. These guys scream military. I recognize the look from Owen. Owen Hunt was a Lieutenant Colonel in the Army as a field surgeon before he left the military, and I can spot his brethren from a block away now. They all just have a certain, well, stick up the ass-ness about them. 

Owen’s our resident Trauma guy and Floater, meaning he does whatever we need him to do. He’s technically a General Surgeon, but in the deserts of the Middle-East, it doesn’t matter if you had a fellowship in pediatrics or cardiology. You fix whatever comes in front of you. The guys in front of me have scant blood splatter on their clothes and shoes, but nothing compared to what April was covered in. I find _that_ that pisses me off.

“We came to check on Dr. Kepner,” the taller of the two says. “She was amazing out there. We just wanted to make sure she was all right.”

“She’s in surgery right now. As the surgeon, not the patient. No thanks to you. Do you want to explain to me what the hell you guys were thinking, allowing my wife and the mother of my children to follow you

 _INTO GUNFIRE?_ ” 

I can’t help how much my voice raises. They can probably hear me in the peds ward. April would say I’m hulking out. The need to take my anger and fear out on something, _someone_ , is oozing from my pores.

Alex puts his hand on my shoulder and squeezes, both in comfort and as a reminder not to attack men trained to kill. With as angry as I am, I might just win. 

But better _not_ to test that theory.

The shorter one, Daniel, I think, put his arms up in a placating, or maybe protective, manner. 

“Look, man, she said she was Army. She knew what she was doing. She didn’t follow us; _we followed her_. Once we caught up to her, we told her to run, to hide, but she told us to pound sand and kept darting into the middle to pull people back to safety.” 

The other speaks the moment the first stops. 

“You should be incredibly proud of her, sir. Your wife was amazing out there. Not very many people run into a literal firestorm, unarmed, to help pull others out of danger. Military or not. By the time we got to the shooter, she had half the hallway clear, and everybody dragged into storefronts.”

They must know each other outside of today’s events, because they start and stop effortlessly, each picking up where the other left off. The cadence of their story is helping to soothe my raw nerves, if not the words themselves.

“Once we had the shooter down, she turned into a drill sergeant, ordering us left and right to help with the wounded until the ambulances arrived. As people trickled out of their hiding spots, she put them to work too. She had a full field hospital going before the first responders ever made it into the building. She didn’t even tell anybody he shot her until one of the paramedics noticed it.”

“Your wife is strong as hell.”

“It’s the adrenaline,” I say absentmindedly, taking their statement literally and running my hand over my beard. Unfortunately, I can see the scene playing out in my mind. I think back to the trauma training they put us through during fourth year. And, after she got back from the Middle East the last time, when she went out into the field to help with that train crash. 

She performed abdominal surgery right in the middle of a train car that was falling apart around her. She told me later that night that she couldn’t handle seeing another person die in front of her when _this_ time the best medicine offered was just a few miles down the road. April’s not one to let anyone or anything get in between her and what she sets out to do. I wonder what she was planning to do if Rambo Dee and Rambo Dumb here didn’t show up? 

Never mind, better not to think about it. Calming down, I look them in the eye again.

“She’s not Army, by the way. I mean, _she was_ , she is. But not like I’m sure she let on. She _did_ spend almost eight months in Baghdad working as a trauma surgeon with the army a few years ago. But she volunteered. She’s a civilian. Her rank is equal to that of a captain, but she never went through more than basic training. She spent eight months sewing up soldiers and shooters alike, not because they ordered her to, but because she knew she needed to help. Kind of like today. Her only defense against a gunman is a scalpel.”

The short one whistles under his breath, and the tall one gives an appreciation filled, “ _Damn_.”

Rick reaches out to retake my hand, and by automatic response, I return the gesture. 

“Well then sir, let me say that it was an honor to meet you today. You have one hell of a wife.” “Yes. Yes, I do.” 

_Or, I did._


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Playlist! https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1la4R1a556EE7MNYHRwNoz?s  
> i=2S1aqseBRYeTey8ku-bE7A

**Chapter Four**

## April 

## Breathe (2 AM) – Anna Nalick

It was a four-hour surgery, with the new ortho guy Link. Though I guess he’s not that new now, is he? I still can’t believe I’ve been gone for two years. 

On the one hand, it feels like I’ve been gone for an eternity. On the other, I fell back into step like I’ve never missed a day. Glasses—oh excuse me _,_ Schmitt —was the senior resident with us, and I was impressed with how much he’s improved. 

It looks like he may take ortho as a specialty, but I think he’d make a talented gen surgeon too.

Luckily, instead of getting upset that I used a five year old nickname, he broke scrub to hug me.

I spent an hour after surgery talking to the police, trying to fill in gaps in their knowledge of what happened today. I can’t put the name to it. _Not yet_. I’m fine referring to it as _What Happened_ _._ Honestly, if I never have to think about it again, it will be too soon. 

I can make that happen, I guess. At this point in my life, I’m pretty efficient at ignoring things I don’t want to think about. 

Right now, all I want to do is crawl into an on-call bed and sleep for twenty-four hours. I’m _exhausted_. Utterly depleted. 

And my arm. O _h God._ My arm is _killing_ me. I refuse to admit it out loud. Especially to Jackson. He found me in the emergency room this afternoon and has been hovering over me all day since. He’s trying to pretend he’s not, but I know him better than anyone. 

Jackson—is one step away from a full-fledged freak-out. 

I can’t have him break down, because as soon as he does, I know that I’ll follow. I’m not ready for that either. Better to concentrate on medicine.

I’m worn out and sore in a way that I haven’t been in years, but excluding the event that brought me here, I feel fantastic. It is _such_ a rush to hold a person’s life in my hand again. There’s no time to think or to worry; there’s only time to react and do what they trained you to do. Even after all this time, my muscle memory took over. _God_ , I’ve been running on such a high all day. 

Unfortunately, the high is fading. Or has faded. 

A wave of weariness forces my eyes closed.

Has faded, for sure. I don’t have to be here. Technically, I probably _shouldn’t_ be. It’s not like I’m employed at the hospital. Heaven help me if I were to get sued. But I couldn’t leave when there were still so many people that needed treatment. Also, and I’m embarrassed to admit it, but it felt _so good_ to be here again. It felt amazing. Not that I don’t love working with the clinic patients. 

I do. 

While my business card reads Assistant Director of Public Health, in reality, I run the two free clinics funded by the city. The clinics cater to the homeless and the uninsured, most of them veterans. It’s a cause close to my heart. Too many of our country’s veterans are on the streets with no access to the mental and physical care that they so desperately need. 

I spend my days doing paperwork and treating illnesses a primary care physician would typically handle. The work I do with the city is _essential_. But I’ve realized that I’m a surgeon. God created me to cut. I feel like an addict who’s had their first drink after several years of sobriety. Now that I’ve tasted the sweetness again, I’m not sure I can stop.

Another thing I’ve missed while working at the clinics is the technology! All afternoon long, I’ve been debating about how to steal a couple computers and tablet systems and get them to my clinics. 

I finish out the form on the tablet in my hand, to have my current patient admitted, when I see Jackson come over to my side of the department. He head nods me over to the corner, and while I roll my eyes at him, I go to where I’m led. He hands me a bottle of pills, Lortab, and a bottle of water. I give him my best _“_ Excuse me? _’_ face, and he responds by pushing a lock of my hair behind my ear. That’s one pitfall of knowing someone for half your life. My scary faces don’t work on him anymore.

“Take them. Maybe you can hide it from everyone else, but I can see how tired you are. It’s after seven o’clock. Let’s get out of here.” 

I look at my wrist, but my watch isn’t there. I’m not sure where I lost it. Hopefully, it’s in the lounge upstairs. Otherwise, it’s lost to the CSI techs of the Seattle Police Department. Man, I hope it’s upstairs.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” I snap at him, feeling prickly that he’s trying to shoo me out.

“April, you don’t have a car. You rode here in an ambulance, remember?” _Oh yeah._

“I’d be willing to bet you can’t get to the mall to pick yours up, anyway. Matthew’s gone, right?” I nod my head in affirmation, already feeling my defeat before he goes on. “I don’t know about you, but I want to see Harriet. Let’s swing by your house, grab some clothes, then you and Harriet can stay with me tonight. I bet you haven’t called Matthew yet either, have you?”

He knows I haven’t, but I appreciate him at least pretending to give me the benefit of the doubt. He knows better than most how much I loathe confrontation. That’s a conversation I’d like to avoid as long as possible. Matthew isn’t going to be pleased I was involved in the shooting and didn’t tell him. He’s _really_ not going to be happy I’ve spent all day at the hospital. 

“Okay, then. It’s settled. I’m sure after you talk to him, he’ll be reassured that you guys won’t be alone tonight.”

No. Matthew most definitely won’t be _reassured_ by our sleeping at Jackson’s house tonight, but it takes a weight off of _my_ shoulders. I’m not looking forward to when my mind processes everything that’s happened today. 

“Fine,” I sulk, but, irritated that he’s gotten me to agree to him without having said a word in defiance, I stick my tongue out before I pop one of the pills he gave me. I look at the prescription bottle and see both of our names on it. 

_Hmmm_. 

In all our years together, I don’t think Jackson has ever written me a prescription. Maybe I’ll keep the bottle. _That’s not too mushy, right?_ I can always pretend it was from before. When we were— _us_.

Jackson wraps his arm around my shoulder, laughing at my one act of rebellion as we walk towards the elevators. He leans in close and whispers, “Have you told Meredith you’re wearing her bra yet?” His breath on my ear sends a shiver down my spine, and I burst into embarrassed giggles.

“Oh my God, I forgot all about it.” 

The laughter does me good, and I can feel some tension of the day leaving me. Now that he’s mentioned it, I can feel the way the bra sits on me, the material different from what I’m used to. I should take a selfie of myself in it and send it to Meredith.

When we enter the locker area, Alex is stretched out on the couch, legs crossed at the ankles, hands under his head. “Nice, Karev,” I laugh as I pick up his legs then sit underneath him. “Good to know your manners have improved.” He doesn’t even open his eyes as his legs plop back down on my lap.

“If it isn’t the conquering hero herself. You are _officially_ going down in Grey Sloan legend. You should hear the way the paramedics were talking about you. We offered to tell them some stories from our residency to give them a more accurate picture of your awesomeness.” 

I was a bit of a late bloomer, I won’t deny it. I came into my own though, admittedly with a lot of help from Alex’s constant harassment and Jackson’s continuous support.

“ _Hardy har har_.”

Jackson comes out of the changing area with his pants and Jordans on, the waistband of his underwear peeking out over his jeans. He’s not wearing his shirt. _Damn, he looks good._ I avert my eyes and see him smirking at me instead. I hate that he’s caught me peeking, but it’s almost impossible not to stare. 

Jackson is what my southern momma always called _sinfully good looking_. By that, she means that just _looking_ at him makes you want to sin. Six foot three to my paltry five foot three, he’s got a body like Thor and a cockiness to match it. His skin tone is just how I like my coffee, dark and smooth with two shots of cream blended through. His mother is Nigerian, via Paris, and his father is as Anglo as they come. They blended to make one beautiful human being. Disgustingly, he’s only gotten better with age. 

We met in med school, and while he was already almost his full height, he was lean and sleek like a runner. As he’s aged, any extra weight he _might_ have gained from the evening out of our schedules—and the ability to take the time to enjoy food instead of eating a power bar between rounds—just added to his muscle mass instead of settling around his middle as it would for most men rounding the corner towards forty. 

He used to keep his hair cropped short with light stubble on his face, both trimmed regularly at the barber. But his hair has grown out long enough on top that I could run my fingers through it; grab it if I wanted. His beard is thicker than I’ve ever seen it before. Still, I can tell from the neatness of his lines he still visits Beau for a trim every week.

“Don’t forget the cops,” says Jackson. “I hope Matthew’s ready to fight for you, because you’ve got about a half dozen marriage proposals coming your way—including Daniel and Rick, _SEAL_ and _SWAT_ respectively”. 

He puts his shirt on and hands me a piece of paper with names and contact information on it. When I give him my best _what the hell are you talking about_ look, Alex speaks up from beside me.

“The guys who took down the shooter. They wanted to check on you. And worship at your feet.” 

Did Karev get superpowers when he became the Chief of Surgery? His eyes are still closed. _Did he know I was giving them a funny look?_ Maybe it comes from being with kids all day for the last ten years. He’d started out planning on specializing in plastic surgery, but a stint in the NICU our intern year changed his course. 

He claims it’s because working on humans no larger than a football makes him the best of the best _._ I know for a _fact_ it was because he discovered the effect a doctor looking like him has on all the moms that wander through the pediatric ward. Now he’s one of the best pediatric and neonatal surgeons on this side of the Mississippi. _That’s what it is._ He has a parent’s sixth sense. He‘ll be an amazing dad. 

“They came looking for you while you were in surgery. I took the liberty of introducing myself as your husband and threatening them with violence upon introduction. They seem on the up and up.”

“Oh, Jackson, you didn’t!” I let the exasperation show clear on my voice.

“Actually, _I_ did,” says Alex. “Strange men coming looking for one of _my_ surgeons, on a day where she was already shot once? They’re lucky I didn’t do more than sic Jackson on them.”

At this Alex raises his fist and Jackson comes over and bumps it, all without Alex ever opening his eyes. 

Boys.

“First of all, I’m not one of your surgeons, Karev.”

“About that—”

With perfect timing, a _very_ pregnant Jo walks through the door and clears her throat at the sight of us. Alex whips his legs off me and is on his feet in a heartbeat. I take a minute to gather what’s just happened, and then I burst into laughter.

“Oh God, I never thought I’d see the day. Alex Karev is _whipped_!”

“Shut it, Kepner!”

It’s like I never left. It just makes me laugh harder.

When Jo sits down next to me, I lean over and give her a hug. It’s been a few months since I’ve seen her, and she is positively glowing. Jo and Alex have been married for a couple of years now, and it has to be said, marriage looks splendid on him.

“Feet hurt?”

“They are so swollen I can see them under my belly, and I can’t see _anything_ under my belly.” 

I smile, commiserating with her. 

“It’s almost over. Then you just have swollen boobs, and a swollen vagina to deal with.”

The boy’s fist bump each other again, smirking like the devil. _Morons_. Jackson grabs his bag out of his locker and turns back to us. 

“You ready?”

“Yeah.” 

I face Jo and give her another hug, then stand up and do the same to Alex. He hesitates for only an instant before he tugs me to him. _Hard_. Deep down, we’re a family. I can tell by the strength in his arms that today’s events scared him more than his position allows him to let on. 

“Thanks for today, Karev. I had a really great time.”

“You are such a freak, Kepner.” 

But instead of the mockery it would’ve held ten years ago; now it’s laced with affection. 

“I love you too, Alex.” 

I can feel the emotions starting to crack. It’s time to get out of here.

“Jackson, plans still the same for tomorrow dude?”

“Yeah, I’m a—” he looks at me then back at Karev. “Yeah, they are.”

“Kepner. See me tomorrow. We’ve got stuff to talk about.”

“Do we?”

“Yes. Now go home. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

The truth is I _am_ about to fall over. 

I wave to everyone we pass on our way out of the hospital, collecting more hugs than I know what to do with. Every person I’ve ever known inside this building stops to make sure nothing has changed since the last person who stopped us asked. It’s sweet, but I’m at the end of my rope. I feel the pain killers kick in as we hit Jackson’s car, and instead of tired, now I’m heavy and foggy as well. When he starts the car up, the clock says its 8:33 p.m. That’s the last thing I remember. 

I’m asleep before I even buckle myself in.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! WARNING! We're going off script a little bit here. I've changed Catherine Fox Avery's background and Jackson's parent's history. Call it artistic license lol.

**Chapter Five**

## Jackson

## Let Her Go, Passenger

“So, are you hungry? Do you want to grab something to eat, maybe get some takeout?” 

She doesn’t answer. When I look over at her she’s already sound asleep, arms at her side, cheek slipping to her shoulder. She doesn’t even have her seat belt on. I shake my head at the ridiculousness of the situation, then unbuckle so I can buckle her in.

She doesn’t have any clothes with her, so we still need to swing by her house. She doesn’t even have her keys, or at least I don’t remember seeing them, so I double-check my key chain to make sure I still have her house key on it.

Their house is a way away from the hospital; at least compared to the rest of us who are all within an emergency page drive. It makes more sense to get Harriet and take them both home since it’s April’s night with her. It’s an hour round trip to go there and back, but I can’t stand the thought of being without them tonight. 

She’s in no condition to take care of an almost-four-year-old anyway, especially one as active as Harriet.

Her phone rings and goes to voicemail, then immediately rings again. I ease it out of her pocket—no there’s _nothing_ weird about me slipping my hand into my ex-wife’s front pocket—and get it out in time to see it’s Matthew.

I notice she’s ignored his call a _lot_ today. 

I wonder what’s going on with them? It’s not my place to ask. I debate about calling Matthew and letting him know that she’s okay. 

If _I_ were her husband, I’d sure as hell want to know what she did today. That’s not my place either. Hearing from me instead of her might make matters worse. If she’s ignoring him, she’s doing it for a reason. I, for one, have no desire to be on the receiving end of her wrath.

What she did today—the more I think about it, the more in awe of her I am. 

And angry. 

So very, _very_ angry. 

Does she even realize how close she came to dying? _Does she even care_? A few inches to the right and that bullet would have gone straight through her heart. My hands tighten on the steering wheel with the desire to react to that thought. But even so, I have never been so proud of anything or anybody in my entire life. The courage she displayed today? It’s amazing. Then she just kept on working, like it was no big deal. Like she isn’t sure to get a key to the city for what she did.

April’s not exactly a sizeable woman or exceedingly strong, but she almost single-handedly saved thirty-two people. That’s how many bodies we had come through our doors with gunshot wounds; thirty-two, and she laid hands on _every single one_. 

That doesn’t even take into account how many others there were injured from being trampled, or tripping and falling, or just plain scarred from being at that mall. We only had two deaths, one of which was the abdominal wound April was pulling out of the way when she was shot herself. There was no way he would have survived unless it had happened in the hospital parking lot with blood standing by.

I talked to the military guys for a lot longer than I let on. Alex gave us his office, then went back to work. Eventually, we wandered off of the subject of the shooting and talked about what makes the sort of person who can run into gunfire with no concern for themselves. 

_Faith_ , they said. 

Not in God, necessarily, though that is a powerful component in most; but faith that you can come out the other side of the situation intact. You have faith that your brothers and sisters in arms have your back. You have confidence that the people in charge are making the right decisions. You trust the people you love will wait for you when you get back. 

They talked about the desire to serve. That for some, for most, it was a calling. The feeling that you are failing if you are not out there doing what you can for your fellow man. The feelings of abandonment and relief soldiers feel when they return from a tour in a war zone. For most, he said, the instinct to protect and serve never goes away, which is why a good deal of ex-military go into public service. 

So when a situation happens in front of you, you react without thinking about the consequences, trusting your faith and training to get you through. But April didn’t have years of military experience or SWAT gear when she followed the trail of a spree killer. 

She didn’t even have her trusty scalpel. April ran into the gunfire with nothing but her faith to protect her. Once again it pulled her through.

_How many more times will that work for her?_

I gaze at her when we hit a red light. She looks so peaceful sleeping. Her hair is hiding half her face, and I push it behind her ears. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since they left. 

Faith that the people you love will be waiting for you. 

They commended me on my steadfastness, to have my wife in a war zone for so long. For standing by her when she sacrificed everything to go, including us. Especially us, because she went by choice and not by force. They said that a lesser man would not understand his wife’s desire to commit to something outside of house and home. _But I didn’t stand by her, did I?_

We’re divorced. 

_I am a lesser man._

I was too ashamed to admit the truth by that point. But they’ll find out when she speaks to them. Then I’ll be a liar as well as a coward in their eyes. But I was _so_ proud to play the part of her husband today. I wanted to bask in the glow for as long as I could. Would things be different if I understood then what I understand now? 

We couldn’t see past our own pain to see the pain we were causing each other when we separated. Then, she tried to explain it to me. That _need_ to go to Baghdad—to save the lives of the people who risk them every single day for our safety and freedom. If she had faith that I would be here waiting for her, I failed her completely.

There’s no point dwelling on it. I’ve told myself that over and over the last few years, but today’s events have left me feeling hollow. My soul is naked and exposed in a way it hasn’t been in ages.

My phone rings, and I rush to answer it before it wakes her up. We’re almost at her house, and I don’t want to bother her before I have to.

“Hey, mom, what’s up?”

“Jackson, child, what the _Hell_ were you thinking? I have to hear from your father that not only was April at that shooting today but that _she was shot_?”

My mother’s accent is very light—hardly discernible unless you’re looking for it. She met my father when he went to Paris on vacation with his friends, and he stayed when his buddies went home. They were married and living in New York six months later as _The_ Fox-Avery’s. She takes pride in having people guess what her origins are. Thinks it gives her a place of power to negotiate from. But tonight, its thick on her tongue. It’s a sure sign of her distress that she lets her emotions take over her cool and constant control.

“ _Maman_ , calm down. It’s fine, _she’s_ fine. _Elle va bien, Maman_. I was going to call you tomorrow. She’s in the car with me now. Matthew is out of town, so she and Harriet will stay with me tonight.”

“Put her on the phone right now; I want to talk to her.”

“She’s asleep right now, _Maman_. She had a hard day. I’ll tell her to call you tomorrow, okay?”

“There won’t be any need for it then, on I’m my way to the airport now. I’ll see her for myself tomorrow.”

“ _Maman_ , seriously, that’s unnecessary. You know plane rides aren’t good for you.”

“Unnecessary? I’ll tell you what’s unnecessary! Finding out hours after the fact that my daughter-in-law was shot! That’s what’s unnecessary, Jackson. _Mais quel garçon stupide et irresponsable!_ ”

You know it’s bad when mom cusses at me in French. _Stupid, irresponsible boy_. She seems to forget that I’m almost forty.

I pull into April’s driveway and let the car idle. Honestly, the thought of calling my mom didn’t even occur to me. I know that they’re still close. They were friends long before April and I were a couple. April makes it a point to keep abreast of things going on with my parents’ company, for Harriet’s sake. It doesn’t matter if we’re still together or not, it’s all going to be Harriet’s one day, since the probability of me having more children is slim. She’s also deeply involved in the charitable side of what my parents do.

My parent’s relationship is as close to a modern-day fairytale as you can get. Both only-children from wealthy families, fate destined them to marry people just as wealthy and well-connected as themselves. What _wasn’t_ expected was they would make that connection across the Atlantic Ocean. 

My mother was raised to run the family business, but what she wanted to be was a doctor. My father was already rising through the ranks of his own family company. 

They took both companies, both in manufacturing and production, combined them under one figurehead, and the rest, as they say, is history. B&A, Inc was born, and in honor of my mother’s humanitarian interests, the company moved into medical devices and products, and they formed the Avery Foundation. As I refuse to involve myself in the business side of things and am only included in the charity because I have no choice, a daughter-in-law that took a keen interest in both was a dream come true in my parent’s eyes.

“She’s not your daughter-in-law anymore, _Maman_. In case you’ve forgotten, she’s married to someone else.”

“Pshaw. That hardly matters now, does it? April is a part of our family. Now give my grandbaby a kiss for me and tell her _grand-mere_ will see her in the morning.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll let her know you’re coming. Anything else?”

“Yes, actually. We will put out a statement tomorrow, as both Fox-Avery and the Avery Foundation. It’s only a matter of time until they release her name to the press, and we need it to be known she is one of ours. I’ve spoken with Alex; the hospital will release one as well. We may all do it jointly; it’s still in progress. It will get crazy around her for a while. You better prepare her.”

 _Shit_. I hadn’t thought of that.

“Yeah, thanks _Maman. Je t’amie.”_

 _“Je t’aime aussi Cheri_. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

I sit and try to gather my thoughts for a few minutes. But my thoughts refused to be wrangled. 

“April, we’re here.” I put my hand on her leg and shake her gently since I don’t want to jostle her arm. 

“Matthew, I’m not in the mood tonight. Just let me sleep.” 

It’s groggy, and sleep mumbled, but the words are clear enough. A spear of jealousy shoots through my gut at the insinuation of them having sex. I tamp it down and tell myself it’s a normal reaction to the thought of your ex being intimate with someone other than you, then try again to wake her.

“April, it’s Jackson. We’re at your house. We need to get you some clothes.”

“Jackson,” she murmurs and she smiles when she says it. “I don’t need any clothes. Just give me five minutes, and I’ll be ready.” She tries to snuggle deeper into the seat, not understanding what’s going on or having any inclination to wake up.

Her response makes me incredibly cocky. I don’t think she ever told me no. Or she has, while she was stripping me. Sex was _never_ our problem. We could fall into bed even when we hated each other the most. And we did. 

_Often_. 

We have the toddler to prove it. Sex was always how we communicated best. That’s probably where we went wrong. 

Giving up on waking her up, I leave the car running and let myself into the house. It’s weird being in here when it’s so dark and empty. The only time I’m inside is when I’m waiting for Harriet. 

I can count on one hand the number of occasions I’ve been past the living areas. There’s not as much of April in the house as I thought there’d be. I know Matthew owned this property with his first wife, but he and April have lived together for almost two years now. You’d think April would have put more of her stamp on things. 

I head to where I know the bedrooms are and pop into Harriet’s room to get her favorite stuffed animal, then go looking for the master. I’m trying not to dwell that this is where April sleeps with her husband. Opening the closet, it’s exactly as I expect it to be, and I grab an overnight bag off of the top shelf. The first thing is a pair of shoes because the sneakers from today need to go into the trash. 

I grab a few shirts, then head to the dresser I assume is hers. It has a picture of Ruby, Nate’s niece, and Harriet together, one of their entire family, then one of the three of us. In the back is another of the Riley group. I don’t remember when it was taken, but we’re all in scrubs, and Benji was there. Maybe the day we told people about being pregnant with Harriet? 

Shaking my head to clear it of unhappy thoughts, I get back on task. Her dresser is arranged the same as it always was. The second drawer holds her pants, and I grab a few of those, and last but not least, her underwear drawer. I’m not looking; I’m not looking. 

_Okay, I’m looking._

It’s perfectly cool my hands are all over her panties. It’s _not_ a gross violation of her boundaries. 

She had better stuff when we were together. _I’m just saying._

I grab some panties and a bra, and a pair of sleep shorts. Then buried deep underneath I see a flash of a faded red shirt. 

“I’ll be damned.” 

It’s an old college shirt she stole from me when we still roomed with Meredith and Alex. I toss that in the bag too, then head out. She’s in the same position I left her in when I get back into the car. Throwing the bag into the back, I send a quick text to the nanny to let her know we’re on our way and pull out of the driveway.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

## Jackson

## Superwoman, Alicia Keys

I put the radio on low, then tune it to a local talk radio station. Sure enough, after listening to it for less than five minutes, I hear “ _Local area surgeon April Kepner started administering medical aid before the gunman had even been subdued.”_

I put my hand on her leg again and squeeze this time. 

“April, April, you need to wake up.” Nothing. A little louder,

“April, the patient is coding.”

“What—what? I’m up, what’s happened?” 

I fail at concealing the chuckle that brings me but sober quickly enough. 

“April, you’d better call Matthew. They’re talking about you on the news.”

“Damn,” she whispers and starts feeling her pockets for her phone. I pull it out of my cup holder and hand it to her. “He’s called a few times, but not since I heard your name on the radio. If you go fast, you may beat him to the news.” I recognize the look on her face as the one she wears when she’s gearing up for a fight, then she hits the button.

She turns to me and says, “It went to voicemail.”

“Hey baby, sorry I’m calling so late, it’s been a crazy day. I have some stuff to talk to you about. I may have understated how things went down at the shooting, and now that everything’s calmed down, I’m ready to talk to you. Give me a callback, please. Love ya.”

She ends the call then hits dial again, to the same results. Sending him a text, I see her shoulders relax, and her chest lose some of its tightness.

“That bad, huh?”

“I should have told him earlier. I know I should have. But it would have brought on a fight, and the last thing I needed right then was to fight with Matthew. Today was amazing. I mean it was terrible and horrifying, and to be that close to evil is a sobering experience. 

“But I _felt_ amazing, Jackson. The adrenaline rushing and the feeling of my hands on a patient again. To have my hands buried inside a person, using skills and gifts that no other being but me has to save their life. It’s a high I’ve been missing for years. I needed to be on my A game, and I couldn’t risk him bringing me down.”

“ _Hmm_. So, you miss operating?” 

Her head is back against the headrest, and her eyes are closed. She looks exhausted, but has this glow around her. It’s the surgeon’s high. I recognize it well.

“I didn’t, at first. 

“When I started working at the clinics, I felt like I was doing God’s work. I _am_ doing God’s work. I felt like I was honoring our fallen by working with the veterans that passed through our doors. But after a while, I needed more.” 

She shrugs, both apologetic and unapologetic at the same time. 

“God made surgeons too.”

“ _Yes_! Yes, thank you. That’s what I keep saying. And Matthew—he just doesn’t get it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t be talking about this.”

“Come on; I thought I was your person?”

Peeking over at her while I’m driving, I have the oddest feeling that if we were sitting on the couch or at the kitchen table, we’d never be able to have this conversation. Something about the lack of direct contact between us and the aid of her painkillers is making her admit things she wouldn’t otherwise. We’ve kept a pretty strict separation of church and state since we both got with other people. Her relationship with Matthew has always been a hard subject for us. 

But she used to tell me everything. I miss those days.

“It’s not the surgery he’s against, not really. I want to come back to the hospital, and Matthew doesn’t want me to. There’s a lot he doesn’t want me to do. He says there are plenty of other hospitals for me to work at. But I could never do that. Grey's is my _home_. I feel like it would be a betrayal to go somewhere else. Could you imagine what Catherine would say if I took a job at Seattle General? She’d disown me!”

“Nah. Buy your hospital? Sure. Yell ‘What were you thinking _enfant_!?’ at you? Absolutely. But not disown you. She loves you too much for that. She’d understand if it was something you had to do.” 

That makes her giggle, and she relaxes against the seat even more.

“I love it when you mimic her. You do it so well. You sound so pretty when you speak French.” 

_She_ sounds like she’s starting to fall asleep again.

The thought of April working somewhere other than Grey Sloan bothers me more than it should. She hasn’t worked with us for years now, but then she wasn’t working as a surgeon. I can’t imagine her running another ER than ours, high-fiving unfamiliar people at the end of a spectacular save. 

We became doctors together. We became surgeons together. Excluding Cristina, our small little clique from our resident class is all still together. Even Cristina still has privileges at the hospital for the occasional situation. April is all that we’re missing.

“If it weren’t for Harriet, I’d go back to the Army.” 

She’s quiet and distant, and when I whip my head to look at her, she’s asleep again.

She’s contemplating going back to the Army? Why is there so much going on in her life that I don’t know?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

## Jackson

## Dazed and Confused, Led Zeppelin

When we get to my building, I can’t wake her up enough to walk inside. When we’re in the elevators, her legs give out completely, and I have to scoop her up in my arms to avoid her hitting the floor. I ring my doorbell and silence the nanny’s exclamations when she opens the door and sees April unconscious in my arms.

“Dr. Avery! I’ve been watching the news all day. Is Dr. Kepner all right?”

“She’s fine, Martha, she’s just exhausted. I couldn’t wake her enough to get her upstairs. Just give me a minute to get her situated and then you can leave. Is Harriet asleep?”

Martha follows me up the stairs and into the bedroom area, and without thinking, I bring April into my room. _Oops._

Too late now. Some habits are harder to break than others. 

Martha helps me get her shoes off, and I drop the bag on the other side of the bed to get her sleep clothes out. She’s really out of it. I have a moment of panic that something may be wrong internally that we’ve missed all day, and images of her bleeding out in my bed flash through my mind. A minute with one hand on her pulse point and the other on her chest assures me that her breathing and heartbeat are strong and steady at 60 bpm. She’s collapsed from exhaustion.

“Martha, could you help her into something better to sleep in? She hates sleeping in scrubs, and those are probably nasty by now, anyway.” I pull the needed items of clothing out of the bag and place them at April’s feet. It’s either let her sleep in bloody scrubs or have someone help her, and I’m sure she’d be less upset over the nanny than me.

I swing by Harriet’s room to check on her, tucking her in and placing a kiss on top of her curly head, then head out into the kitchen to get a beer and wait for Martha to come back. 

“Wow, she _is_ really out of it. She didn’t make a peep. I got her into the red shirt and shorts you set out. Do you need me tomorrow?”

“Yes, please. I know it’s not your day to do so, but if you could pick Harriet up from here tomorrow to take her to school, then bring her back here afterward. I have a feeling tomorrow will be just as crazy as today.”

“Of course, Dr. Avery.” 

She hesitates for a minute, rocking on her feet, vacillating over her next move. “When Dr. Kepner is feeling better, please tell her thank you from me. She’s truly a hero.” 

With that, she leaves, and I collapse on the couch. _What a fucking day_. I push my shoes off with my toes and pull my shirt over my head.

I’m almost asleep when I hear the front door open. Cracking my eyes, I see Maggie easing into the apartment. 

“Hey, you. I was worried about you. I didn’t see you at all today. Are you okay?”

“Come here.” 

I open my arms, and she eases herself down next to me, putting her head on my shoulder.

“What a day, huh? I still can’t believe that April was involved in all that. Owen was walking around the hospital like a proud papa. He couldn’t be prouder of her if he’d birthed her himself. How is she doing? Did she get home, okay?”

 _Fuck_. 

It’s only now just dawned on me that April is asleep in _my bed_. Why didn’t I walk the extra feet to put her in the guest room instead?

“Yeah, she’s okay. She finally dropped though, once all the emergencies were out of the way. She’s here, not at home. Matthew is out of town, and I didn’t want her by herself after everything she’s been through today.”

“Here? As in _here_?” 

She’s looking around the room like April will materialize out of the walls.

“Yeah, she fell asleep in the car, and I couldn’t wake her up again. I was tempted to bring her back to the hospital, worried that she’d had internal injuries that we’d missed, but her vitals were strong. It’s just exhaustion and stress. Her body probably shut down the second she permitted it to relax some.”

“That makes sense. You’re right; it’s better for Harriet that they stay here tonight, anyway. I’m sure Matthew will come to collect them in the morning. Or do we need to send someone to get him from the airport? He’s on his way home, I’m assuming?” 

Maggie doesn’t need to know that April hasn’t even talked to Matthew about what happened. That’s between them. Instead of answering her, I take a sip of my forgotten beer. She gives me a look, but powers on.

“Well, I’m exhausted, and you are too, let’s go to bed.” 

I feel a moment of panic at her words but remember that I’m a grown ass man and I’m not afraid of a woman in her twenties. _Much._ April is just sleeping. It’s not a big deal.

“Yeah, about that. We’re going to have to sleep in the guest room.” 

She gives me a bewildered look, and I hurry to explain before I make it any worse.

“See, when April was in the car, she was so out of it I couldn’t wake her up. I got her alert enough to get her into the building, but her legs gave out when we were in the elevator. I had her bag of stuff over my shoulder, and then I had to carry her, and I couldn’t reach my keys and had to wait for Martha to come and let us in, and she was getting heavy.” 

I’m rambling. I _am_ afraid of a thirty-year-old woman. 

“She weighs more than she looks when it’s dead weight in your arms. My room was closest, and I wasn’t thinking about anything other than putting her down before I dropped her.” 

I’m strong, though, and Maggie knows it.

“Yeah no, that makes total sense.” 

She’s getting up off of the couch and reaching for her purse. 

“I’m just going to head home tonight.” 

I protest, but she cuts me off, and I don’t fight it like I should. 

“No, it’s okay. They need you tonight. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“ _Umm_ —I took tomorrow off. I just—I needed to be here with them, you know? It’s April. She could have died, Maggie. But we’re coming in tomorrow. Some time. Alex asked April to swing by during the day.”

“Sure. Of course. Okay. I’m going to go then.” 

She leans in to give me a quick kiss and then she’s out the door. _Fuck this day._ I’m going to bed. I swallow the rest of my beer and put it in the recycling, an April thing I kept going even after we separated, and take my shirt into my bedroom. Seeing her asleep here on her side of the bed, wearing that stupid college shirt, it’s almost like nothing has changed. Then I see the bandage wrapped around her arm from a gunshot wound and remember _everything_ has changed. I grab some clothes for tomorrow, then head into the guest room.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

April

I come to slowly, every muscle in my body screaming. I feel like I was trampled by a herd of elephants. I guess the description isn’t that far off. There’s a fine tremor running through my entire body, and my injured arm is almost useless. Looking at my shaking hands, if I didn’t know better, I’d say I had Parkinson’s disease. 

Coffee permeates my senses and I try to ease my way out of the bed. I get my legs over the edge but then have to sit to rebuild my strength. It’s so high that my feet dangle at least a full foot off the floor. _How did I even climb into this thing last night?_ I take a moment to glance around while I ease myself to the floor. 

Jackson’s guest room is all sharp angles and expensive furnishing. It’s so Avery that it’s ridiculous. He bought the condo after we broke up. This apartment screamed “cry for help” when I first saw it. The Jackson I found when I got home was _not_ the Jackson I left behind. This place drips money from the balcony, and he was always discreet with that information.

It’s one reason he goes by his father’s name instead of the hyphenated version his parents use. He didn’t want to associate with their wealth. Making it on his own was important to him. Avery's are a dime a dozen, he once told me. There’s only _one_ Fox-Avery. That’s why I made sure our daughter carried his parent’s name. I’m proud of his heritage. _I just hope that he gets their height._

He needs a woman’s touch to soften all the lines in this place. 

Upon closer inspection, I realize that this isn’t the guest room. _I’m in the master._ In the room’s corner is the painting we bought together right after we got married. It’s an oil painting of Doctor Strange, the comic book version. He was always my favorite superhero. When I was growing up, I wanted to be a magical neurosurgeon _so freaking bad_. 

This one has Doctor Strange looking into a mirror. His physical self is in scrubs and the gear we wear for the OR, his hands gloved and at his sides. The reflection is him in his sorcerer costume. I had to beg Jackson for it. It cost an arm, and a leg—but I loved it. I didn’t know he still had it. He paid me for my half when we got divorced, and I just assumed he had sold it per the decree. 

_Huh_.

His closet is open and his ridiculously expensive wardrobe and overpriced sneakers are on full display. Glancing back at the cracked bedroom door, I hobble over to the adjoining closet and slide it open. There’s a small spattering of women’s clothes and a few pairs of shoes, but nothing to show that Maggie is with him full time now. I wonder why they haven’t moved in together yet? They’ve been together longer than Matthew and I have.

I don’t remember getting here last night. Turning back around, I see my overnight bag on the side of the bed. Clothes, undergarments, shoes. Shampoo and deodorant. Even my makeup bag. _Why do I not remember getting any of this?_ I grab the duffel and head into the bathroom. I’m as weak as a kitten. I can hardly make it the twenty feet to the shower.

The sight of the bathroom stops me in my tracks. The room is enormous. _Seriously_ , it’s bigger than my entire living room. It has separated his and her vanities with an honest to God ottoman sitting in between them. Seeing a toy perched on the fabric lifts the sides of my mouth into a smile. I wonder how many times Harriet has sat in here, watching her daddy getting ready. There’s a smaller door that’s open, with linens inside. There’s yet another chair off in the corner, probably for decoration. The closed door at the end holds what I assume is the toilet.

The bath makes me hate him. _Just a little_. A hot tub with jets and a pillow indent for the head, I make a promise to myself that one day, I _will_ soak in that monster, if I have to sneak over when he’s at work to do it. 

Oh, God, the shower is _magnificent_. 

It has multiple shower heads and a bench around the edges. Putting my bag of crap onto the ottoman, I turn the water on full blast. To my surprise, steam rises almost immediately. My shower at home takes _ages_ to heat up. After a quick stop at the potty, I strip. Or try to. I almost can’t get my clothes off, but jiggle out of them one-handed. My legs wobble like jelly, so I sit on the floor of the shower and let the water pound on my aching muscles. 

It feels glorious. 

From this position, I can wash my hair and my body without the shakes getting too bad. I hesitate, realizing I left my toiletries in the bag. _Too late now._ Jackson won’t mind if I use his. I can _just_ reach them in their spot in the corner from my position on the floor. I always love the way he smells, anyway.

“April, you okay in here?” 

Jackson’s voice comes from behind the door, and I realize I never told them I was awake. 

_Oops_. 

There’s light frosting in the middle of the glass doors to the shower which means he can see my bottom half but not my top since I’m sitting down. And short. I put my hand in the air to show him where I’m at while answering.

“I’m okay. Sorry I didn’t come downstairs first. I’m on the floor of the shower. It hurt too bad to stand.” 

With that, Jackson shoves into the bathroom, then stops so fast he almost tips over. I can’t help the giggle that overtakes me, then slips into a groan as the pain pulls at my muscles. He takes several steps forward, then turns his back and talks to the ceiling. 

“I— _uh_ —good. You’re okay? Good. _Maman_ is here, and we kept Harriet home from school today. It’s already after eleven. You’ve been asleep rounding on thirteen hours. I was starting to worry about you.” 

Usually, I’m the one that rambles when I get nervous. It’s cute to see him do it. You’d think he’d never seen me naked before. But it was indeed— _before_. My conscious kicks in enough to make me embarrassed. _Great_.

“Thanks, Jackson. For everything. I’ll be out on a few. I’m just moving slow today.”

“ _Bien sur_ , take your time. There’s just a lot going on outside we need to talk about.”

He doesn’t like to admit It, but whenever he spends any significant time with his mother, his deep and smooth voice takes on a French lilt. I can tell from just those few sentences that they’ve been doing an awful lot of chatting.

“Speaking of talking, do you know where my phone is? I didn’t see it.”

“I have it. It’s been ringing nonstop, and I didn’t want it to bother you. Your parents called; I hope you don’t mind that I answered. They’re upset that you didn’t call them yourself, and I think it threw them for a loop to hear me answering your phone.

“I said that Matthew was out of town and that I wouldn’t let you go back to the house by yourself. We told them you didn’t talk to anyone yesterday, that you went right from star surgeon mode to sleeping like a zombie. Calling them probably never entered your mind. I know I didn’t think of it. I tried to get you off the hook—that we didn’t realize they would release your name to the press.

“ _Maman_ spoke up and shared her irritation about being left out of the ‘April is a hero’ loop, half in French to boot. They talked for a while on the pain of having such _enfants négligents_. I talked them out of hopping on the first plane down, _I think_ , but I promised them you’d call as soon as you woke up. 

“We let Harriet video chat with them. That helped calm some of their worries. _Maman_ says we can send the plane for them and they’ll be here by tomorrow. If you want.” 

His voice clearly says _I know you don’t_. He knows me too well to think I’d want to deal with my parents _and_ everything else.

The care he’s taken dealing with them, who he doesn’t have the best relationship with anymore, brings tears to my eyes. 

“Thank you, Jackson. _So much._ Has—?”

He cuts me off before I can form the sentence.

“Matthew hasn’t called yet. Does he not have access to the news where he’s at, by the way?” 

The irritation in his voice is palpable, and I _think_ I hear him mumble “Bastard” in French, but I can’t be sure. I have to admit it’s weird that he hasn’t called me since yesterday. He must be madder than I thought. “What else?”

“We can talk when you get out of the shower, April.” 

Oh yeah. I’m sitting on his shower floor. The water heater must be amazing. Maybe he’ll buy me one for my house?

“Is Martha here, or maybe your housekeeper?”

“No, why?” 

_Dammit_. If it were anybody but Jackson, I’d ask for help with no hesitation. Nudity stopped bothering me long ago. But it is Jackson. The scalding water has done wonders for my muscles, but every time I place my hands on the floor to push myself up, I get that tremor running through my body again. The arm that got shot won’t support my weight at all. I’m not close enough to the benches to use them as leverage. _Maybe I can get on my hands and knees and crawl over to them?_

 _Shitballs._

“I _might_ have overdone it yesterday. I’m not sure I can stand up on my own. Just give me a minute, and I’ll be right out.” Instead of leaving, he just stands there staring at the ceiling. 

“Fine. But promise me you won’t tell Matthew about this.” 

A laugh forces its way out of me unbidden, and I agree, nodding my head.

From my angle on the floor, I can see him reach behind himself and pull his shirt up and over his head. _Fuck, that’s sexy._ _Why do men take their shirts off like that?_ Jackson pulls the chair from the corner of the room and moves it to the middle, then grabs the stack of towels off the counter. 

“Can you reach the faucet?” he asks, and I stretch out my fingers.

“Nope. This is your fault too, you know. If you didn’t have a shower the size of a swimming pool, I’d be able to use the benches to get up. I sat in the middle under the steam and now I can’t reach the walls.”

“That reminds me. Don’t think you’ve avoided the whole _running into gunfire and blaming me for it_ conversation. You may be a hero, but I’m still pissed as hell. How could you be so reckless? Did you ever stop to think for a _second_ about what we would have done without you?”

There’s fire in his voice as he lectures me, and that pisses me off. 

He opens the glass door, looking everywhere and at everything but me. He’s got a towel in one hand and leans in to turn off the water. He mumbles _Fuck it_ before he steps in next to me and stretches the towel out between his hands. Looking straight at me, naked and wet on his shower floor, he leans down and scoops me up under the shoulders and hauls me to my feet. 

He circles me like prey, wrapping the towel around my body as he does so. It’s one of those extra-long towels, and he flattens up against my back to tuck the ends into the front. I ignore the fire that flashes through my limbs at the intimate contact and try to break the tension that’s swathed us.

“ _Hypocrite much?_ Who was it that ran into a literal burning building to rescue an ex-girlfriend? Or what about climbing into a burning bus to recue babies and kittens? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. You seem to think you’re freaking fireproof.”

“If I remember correctly, you started wailing on me with your fists the second I re-appeared. Both times. In case you didn’t know, your father did a damn good job teaching you how to hit. But I can’t do that, can I? Despite how bad I want to. Despite how desperate I am to physically show you how God damn _angry_ with you I am. I can’t hit you, and I can’t kiss you, so all I have left to me is to yell at you!” 

His voice rises in sound but lowers in pitch until he’s almost growling at me.

 _Holy_ — _Cow._

I have no response to that.

 _None._

_I’ll tell you a secret._ I’ve always gotten a little turned on whenever Jackson got angry. I think it’s because, for the longest time, what drew his ire was in _my_ defense, and that always made me feel a certain way. Then when we went from friends to lovers and started fighting between ourselves after that, I could never quite shake getting aroused when his blood boiled. I think that’s why so many of our fights ended with us in bed. 

Right now, he’s frigging furious. At me—and it is freaking hot. His eyes are blazing, and it pulls his body taught in anger. I can feel the tension zinging through his extraordinary muscles, and I know from indepth _personal_ research what it’s like when Jackson takes out his frustrations physically.

_I’m married. I’m married. I’m married._

He’s got his arm around me as we’re inching our way to the chair in the room, and he gently helps me into it. Without me asking, he grabs another smaller towel and pushes my head down over my lap. Jackson runs my hair through the fabric, with maybe more force than _strictly_ needed. Wrapping my damp locks in the towel, he yanks me back straight with his fingers dug into my hair. _Definitely_ with more force than needed. It’s such an erotic motion that my eyes roll into the back of my head. Lightning shoots down from where his hand is still buried in my hair to my toes, with it coiling deep in my belly. I feel my lady parts clench with need. The need to have him inside me burns. I’m almost panting.

_This is bad. This is really bad._

We haven’t been alone together for this amount of time in years. _Years_. And within a day we’re back to old habits that should be long forgotten. Intimate, _inappropriate,_ habits. Patterns that have me considering pushing him onto the floor and letting him show me just how mad at me he is. He seems to realize it too because he stares straight through me, then roughly clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck and looking up at the ceiling again.

“You good? You’re good. I’ll send _Maman_ to help you out.” 

He grabs his shirt up off of the floor and is out the door like the room is on fire. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

April

By the time Catherine knocks on the door, I’ve got my heart rate back under control and I’ve wiggled into my underthings. I’m sitting back on the chair to trying to put on my pants. 

“April _ma chérie_ , can I come in? I’ve brought your cell phone.”

“Of course, Catherine.” 

With my pants around my knees, I should be embarrassed. Her smile lights up her face though and her eyes are so concerned, that it brings another round of tears to my cheeks. 

“ _Ma soeur_ , let me help you with that.” 

She hurries over to help me stand and steadies me while I finish my pants. She holds me with a smile on her face, whispering soothing French nothings in my ear.

I took French throughout high school and college, then bought a few language on tapes when I got close to Jackson and his family. So, I understand them perfectly when they combine both languages in conversation. But I still don’t converse as effortlessly as they do. Harriet is being raised bilingual, with Italian and Spanish thrown in too one day. She’s got a natural tongue for it. 

“I don’t know why I’m so wobbly today. I only got nicked in the arm.”

“ _Ma chérie_ , you know it was more than that. Pulling all of those people to safety? It will be days before you can walk straight again. I’m sure you didn’t get a proper medical examination after all of that. Didn’t let anybody make a fuss over you after it happened. 

“You’ve got pulled muscles and sprained ligaments all over the place. I bet if we put you into an MRI machine, you would light up like a Christmas tree.” 

I pull my shirt on over my head, then allow Catherine to lower me back to the chair.

She takes my hair out of the towel and picks up my hairbrush to work out the tangles. I can’t remember the last time someone other than my hairdresser brushed my hair for me. _Probably her son_. She hums under her breath, and I close my eyes and revel in the sensation. I feel her tug on my head and open my eyes to watch her braid my hair. 

I lift one hand to give her arm a squeeze in thanks, then gaze at her through the mirror. At last, she walks around to the front of me, pushing strands of hair back to where she wants them. She reminds me of Cleopatra: long-necked and gorgeous, hair natural and pulled into a bun at her nape—graceful as her name would insinuate. 

I’m so lucky to have her in my life. 

She grabs both of my hands and holds them in hers. Looking me in the eye, she speaks softly, but firm.

“ _Ma precieuse belle-fille_ , I am as proud of you as if you were my own flesh and blood. But _s’il te plait_ , please, never ever do anything like that again. Harriet needs you. Jackson needs you. Your family needs you. If it came down to your life or the lives of all those people you helped yesterday, we’d pick you over and over again.” 

She’s crying, and I’m crying, and I stand so we can hold each other close. She rubs my back, and I let her take some guilt off my shoulders. 

After a few minutes, _Maman_ pulls away, and Catherine Fox-Avery takes her place.

“Now, let’s get out of this bathroom and go attack the day! We have a lot to do, and daylight is ticking away _ma petite_.”

***

The stairs are a slow and painful undertaking. When we walk into the living area, Jackson is sitting on the couch, and Harriet is playing in front of him. Perking at the sound of me grunting on the steps, she leaves his toys and comes running in my direction.

“Mommy!”

“Harriet!” 

I bend to catch her but can’t get there fast enough. She doesn’t hit me with any more force than usual, but in my weakened state, my knees buckle at her impact. 

Quicker than Black Panther, Jackson is over the back of the couch and at my side. Catherine grabs Harriet , assuring her that mommy is okay, and Jackson picks me up bridal style as if I weigh no more than air. I’m sure he can see the blush that blooms over my pale skin, but thankfully, says nothing of it. I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing so not to lose my composure entirely. 

_In and out, April, in the nose and out the mouth._

_Don’t think about what happened in the bathroom this morning. This means nothing._

Much to my chagrin, instead of putting me down on the couch and leaving me to regain my self-possession in peace, he’s back in front of me within seconds. Squatting between my legs he has his stethoscope in his ears and reaches up under my shirt telling me to breathe. 

_Oh God_ , I may _actually_ die from of embarrassment _and_ arousal. _Has that ever happened before? What will it show on the coroner’s report?_ I try to concentrate on Catherine chatting with Harriet, but all that does is remind me I’m trying not to jump my ex-husband in front of his mother and our daughter. 

_I’m going to hell._

After he pats me from head to toe like I’m a child and sits with his fingers on my pulse for several minutes, he speaks. 

“Coffee?” 

I feel better about myself when his voice cracks on the word.

He doesn’t bother to wait for my affirmative before he’s up and in the kitchen. 

Catherine moves from sitting with Harriet over to the chair next to me, and starts the morning debriefing.

“April. Word is out that you and those boys are the people of the moment. Everyone from the local news to late-night talk shows have been calling for you. Ellen’s people reached out twice already. I didn’t think you’d mind, so I appointed the charity’s publicists to speak on your behalf.”

I can tell she’s in business mode because her accent fades away. It helps me reign my emotions back into the box they belong in. Catherine lets nothing mess with her serenity for long, and I’d do well to mimic her example.

“Of course, I don’t mind. Thank you for handling that for me. I honestly have no desire to deal with any of this.”

“We told people that you would put out a statement when you were ready, but that right now, you were spending time with your family and recovering from your wounds. I emailed you a copy of the statement that we released to the press. Just a recap of your medical training and your time with the Army. It has your connection to the charity, but not to the family. Anyone that bothers with a Google search will see that information, but we figured, at least for Harriet’s sake, we didn’t need to advertise that you are the wife of, and mother to, the sole heirs of the

F&A fortune.” 

She didn’t take our divorce well. She _never_ refers to me as his ex-wife. 

“People are also requesting pictures with you and the two gentlemen who took down the shooter. I’d like to suggest the hospital for that. Oh, and I’ve also contacted your family lawyer. The more protection you have at the moment, the better. I promised your _M_ _aman_ that I would take care of you—since you both are too _tetu_ to do a good job of it yourselves.” 

At that, she shoots both Jackson and me looks of deep disapproval, and I sink into the couch and take a drink of my coffee to break her gaze.

We are stubborn, she’s right. But she’s in denial if she thinks Jackson didn’t inherit that particular trait from her. Nicholas, Jackson’s father, is as laid back and genial as a person can be. Being married to Catherine for almost fifty years, he’d have to be.

“Whatever you think is the best, _Maman_.” 

Jackson hands me my phone, and I blow on my coffee while scrolling through my calls. Matthew hasn’t called or texted once since yesterday at 9:30 while I have dozens of calls and messages from numbers I both do and don’t recognize. He’s in Florida with Ruby visiting his parents, so it’s already the afternoon there. I try to call him, and it goes straight to voicemail. _Shitballs._ This isn’t good.

“Matthew, it’s me. I’m getting worried about you. I need to talk to you. I know you’re mad at me, but we need to talk. Call me back.” 

Ignoring the looks on both Jackson’s and Catherine’s face, I motion for her to continue. 

There’s a knock at the door, and Jackson rises to answer it. To my surprise, Meredith is standing on the other side, still in her scrubs.

“I don’t have long, but we were all so worried about you. Owen took my gall bladder removal so I could pop over and visit.”

She hurries into the apartment, stopping to hug an excited Harriet, then plops beside me on the couch. She squeezes me to her tight, and it brings a grunt of pain and surprise from my lips.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, April. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

The panic on her face is both comforting and amusing, but Jackson speaks up first.

“Don’t worry about it, Mer; she hurt herself. You just squeezed the aftermath.”

I give Jackson the look that comment deserves, and I see the fire from this morning ignite behind his eyes again. Meredith saves me from embarrassing us both.

“On that note, how are you feeling?”

I shrug, and she nods in understanding.

“I’m good enough. Sore. Tired. Ready to put all of this behind me. However, I’m sensing that’ll be easier said than done. I’m surprised to see you here, but it’s a delightful surprise.”

“I was afraid a brawl would break out over who got to visit you first, but as soul-sister to the boss, I won.”

“Good. You know you’re my favorite, anyway.”

Her laugh makes me laugh, and my muscles ache in protest.

“I know that Alex told you to come by the hospital today, but there’s press camped out there in droves, so if it’s okay with you, the board has given me permission to speak to you on the hospitals’ behalf.” 

I look at Jackson for some clue what this is about, but he just shakes his head and shrugs. 

“We have a problem, and I’m hoping that you can solve it for us. It’s fortuitous, maybe, that all of _this_ happened when it did, as they were planning on reaching out to you within the next few weeks, anyway. The craziness just moved the timeline up some.”

“I didn’t think a decision had been formally made yet.” 

So, Jackson _does_ know what this is about.

_The plot thickens._

“There was never any other choice but her. They were just giving _you_ the time to come to that conclusion yourself. You took too long.” 

Turning back to me, she continues. “We need a new pediatric attending.”

_Confusion, thy name is April._

When it becomes apparent I’m about to interrupt her, she puts her hand up and powers on.

“We need a new pediatric attending. We happen to have a world-class Cardiatric Surgeon acting as the head of our Trauma department. She should be in the cardiatric division exclusively, but you know how surgeons’ egos are. Such fickle things.” 

There’s a twinkle in her eyes, and I know she’s making fun of us all and not simply Dr. Altman

“If she can’t be the head of a department, she doesn’t want the job. They proposed that she remain the head of trauma, but also act as a cardiatric attending. That was agreeable to both departments, but then that left her with too little time to handle the day-to-day details that accompanies running your own department. Owen could handle it, but he has no desire to do so. With two children under the age of three, he has his hands full already. He says he has no desire to handle paperwork again.

“It was suggested that we hire a _surgeon_ to be an official Chief of Emergency Medicine. Dr. Markel is ready to retire but has been dragging his feet because he doesn’t want to leave the department in the hands of someone less than worthy. We want someone familiar with surgery’s end of emergencies, which will better equip the department for mass casualty events like yesterday. But also, someone who can quickly turn over stomach aches and flu symptoms that make up most of the ED patients. 

“Dr. Altman would remain the head of trauma, but trauma would fall under the ED. Sort of like how Maternal Fetal Surgery is its own department, but still falls under Pediatrics. Since you run the clinics for the county, very well I may add, you were the first name tossed out. You’ve got the experience of running an emergency department, even if it was informally.”

I hesitate, my mind spinning out at the unexpected offer. Meredith seems to sense my burgeoning panic. She hurries to sweeten the deal.

“Long-term employees still talk about you, April. The department hasn’t been the same since you left. Being Chief, instead of just an attending, would, naturally, come with all the perks the title insinuates, including a paycheck to match.” 

Not just an attending surgeon, but _Chief of Emergency Medicine_. 

“Would I still get to operate?”

Catherine takes this one.

“April, you could pick any surgery you chose. As a trauma surgeon, you have skills that others just don’t have. In the field, you’ve done everything from open-heart surgery to amputations, to appendectomies on toddlers. I still remember that story, you know. 

“You’ve delivered more babies and made more burr holes than any doctor outside of those specialties. I know, I looked. You basically have two specialties, surgery _and_ emergency medicine. You’ve got the skills to back this up, April. That’s why we’re offering it to you. What happened yesterday was just an unfortunate coincidence in timing.”

She hands me an offer letter on hospital letterhead, and the income mentioned makes my heart stop. Chief! I can’t believe it. I guess that explains Alex’s insistence that I was one of his surgeons. If Meredith is to be believed, this has been in the works on their side of things for quite a while.

I sit there stunned, trying to wrap my mind around how quickly this is happening. Not just Chief, but the chief of the busiest department in the hospital, in the biggest hospital in the state. Grey Sloan has, on average, one hundred and fifty thousand patients go through the ED doors yearly, which breaks down to almost 450 patients a day. Jackson and Catherine look at each other and seem to take my silence for indecision.

“I know you’re concerned about your patients at the clinic. It’s been discussed, _often_ by some, about opening a second low-income clinic to run through the hospital with the help of the Fox-Avery foundation. One not attached to the hospital property, but would be more accessible to those that have trouble coming to our location or are uncomfortable with doing so. Your experience would be a substantial addition to getting that project up and off the ground.”

“Now _that_ I knew about,” Jackson pipes up from his spot in his chair. I take a glance at him and can see a faint blush rise onto his cheeks. He turns his attention back to playing with Harriet , and I wonder if he’s the one that’s been pushing for the clinic. The Fox-Avery Foundation? Does she mean _Jackson_ was offering to fund a free clinic? I push the rush of affection for my _ex-_ husband away and think about my current one.

I should discuss this with Matthew. But I know what he’ll say. _No_. In no uncertain terms. He is one hundred percent against me working at the same hospital where Jackson works, as plain and simple as that. But— “Yes. I accept.” 

Catherine beams like she just won the lottery, Meredith makes a very unsurgeon like _yes_ motion with her arms, and even Jackson has a slight smirk on his face, though he’s still staring down at Harriet playing at his feet. 

“ _Merveilleux_!” 

Catherine claps excitedly, and Harriet rises to her feet and heads over to her grandmother. At almost four years old, she’s gotten bigger than I can believe. My mom calls her an Empath. She’s good at reading people’s emotions.

“Why are you so happy, Grammie?”

“Your M _aman_ just made me very happy _mon petit_! Are you hungry?

Your _grand-mére_ is hungry.” 

Catherine glances at the adults in the room looking for confirmation, and I nod enthusiastically.

“I could eat Harriet, I’m so hungry,” I say, and pretend to make motions like I’m going to get her. Meredith joins in, and she squeals and scrambles away from us to the other side of the room.

“I’ll go get some food then. I’ll be right back guys.” 

Jackson stands up from his spot and heads into the kitchen. Picking up his keys and wallet from the counter, drops a kiss on Harriet and Catherine’s heads. After a moment’s hesitation, he kisses me on mine too. I can’t help the way my eyes close when he does it. My emotions are all jumbled after yesterday. I’m craving comfort, and he’s the one here to give it. That’s the reason we’re so touchy-feely today, or at least that’s what I’m gonna keep telling myself.

When the doorbell rings, I just assume it’s someone else from the hospital coming to say hi, and help Harriet onto my lap to read the book she just brought me. Instead, when Jackson opens it, I see Matthew standing on the other side of the door.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

## April

## King of Anything, Sara Bareilles

Jackson steps back to let Matthew in, then shuts the door behind him. Instead of leaving as he had planned on doing, he positions himself between us, standing close to the couch. Meredith mirrors Jackson on my other side. Though I would never admit it out loud, relief floods me knowing they’re guarding my weak side if I need it. 

Because right now, _all_ of me is weak.

Matthew enters the apartment but doesn’t step further than the first few feet. His hands are in his front pockets, and he radiates a cold calmness that unsettles my bones. He glances between me and where Jackson has positioned himself and only seems to stiffen further. 

_But Matthew is my husband._

I tell myself he has every right to be furious with me. 

“Matthew,” yells Harriet, scrambling off of the couch and running over to him. Matthew gives Harriet a genuine smile but ignores the arms reaching to be picked up.

“I’m glad to see you’re okay.” 

His jaw clenches as he turns back to me. I try to stand too fast, and my body gives out on me for the second time today. Jackson takes two enormous strides to the right and has his arm around me before I can either catch myself—or hit the ground trying—and eases me back onto the couch. 

My personal superhero rescues me again. 

Meredith crouches to her feet and places her hand on my knee, offering me silent support. I think I’m getting worse instead of better. Logically, I know that that’s not uncommon, but it sure is damn inconvenient right now.

“She’s not, as you can see for yourself.” 

Where Matthew is full of icy rage, Jackson’s voice burns with hot, quiet wrath. 

_This is bad. This is really bad_.

_Seems to be the theme of my life lately._

“This is a discussion between _my_ wife and me, if you don’t mind.” 

He says it sharply, boring holes into Jackson as he does. The emphasis on _my_ can’t be ignored, and I feel like he just whipped it out and peed on me like a dog. 

Turning to me, he says, “According to the news, you made it out of yesterday just hunky-dory.” 

So that’s why he’s here, huh? Not to check on my wellbeing, but to claim his property. My initial instinct is to fight back, but I squash it down and remind myself that _he_ is the injured party in this situation. Metaphorically at least. I’m the one with a bullet hole.

“Matthew, I’ve been trying to call you since last night. When did you get here? Where’s Ruby?”

His demeanor is hard and frigid, scary even. He’s rocking back and forth on his feet, hands still in his pockets, holding himself with the tightest of control.

I stammer out, “I’m sorry. I—I didn’t know how to tell you. I’m sorry. But we need not do this here. Let’s go home.” 

I place my hands on the couch to lift myself up again but stop when his voice rings out full of derision.

“Oh, I went to the house, expecting to find my wife. Instead, I found police cruisers blocking our street and news crews lined up and down the block. 

“Then I went to the hospital, afraid that maybe it had been worse than the news was reporting. But nope, no April. Instead, I’m informed that _Seattle’s Own Savior_ ”—the words are dripping with venom off of his tongue. I cringe at hearing it—“is taking some well-deserved leave with her family to recover from her injuries and to please direct all requests to her publicist. 

“Her family. Interesting, I think, since _I_ , her _husband_ ,” he spits, and again there’s that possessive noun, “wasn’t even told she’d been involved. I found my way into the surgery ward, where at least some people know me, only to be told that they think you’re at Jackson’s place. I just had to see for myself that you’re okay. I’m glad that you are.” 

He takes a big shuddering breath, then continues. 

“Please don’t call me anymore. Ruby is with my parents. I’ll text you to let you know when you can swing by to collect your stuff.”

“Matthew!”

“No, April.”

“He shot her, Matthew, and then without even pausing she saved dozens of people!” Jackson says in a tone of voice that I’m _oh, so familiar_ with. It asserts, without ever saying the words, _What, are you fucking stupid or something?_

He’s always been the first to defend me, no matter the situation. I close my eyes and pray that this doesn’t end in bloodshed.

Matthew is almost vibrating with suppressed anger. 

“She was, and instead of calling _me_ , she spent the day in surgery with _you_. Then went home. _With you_.” 

It would be better if he raised his voice. I need to hear him scream. His quiet anger sends shivers up my spine. I don’t know how to defend myself, because that’s exactly right. I didn’t _want_ to call Matthew. In my moment of need, what I needed was Jackson—and Matthew knows it.

“Where were you shot?”

“Um—my arm. I was shot in the arm.”

You can see the waterproof bandaging under my shirt sleeve. It needs changed. Waterproof doesn’t mean drown yourself in the shower proof, and it’s looking a little worse for wear.

“Did it require medical attention?”

“Yes.”

“Who stitched it up?” 

He means it to me, I think, but is looking at Jackson when he speaks. He asks like there’s not a doubt in his mind, and of course, there’s not.

“I did,” Jackson replies, and there’s defiance in his voice. I could hit him. Does he not realize that he’s making the situation worse?

“Jackson,” Catherine says from the other chair, and I start at hearing her voice. I had forgotten she was even here. “Why don’t we take Harriet and give them some privacy _mon fils_.” 

Before she makes it off of her chair though, Matthew responds.

“That’s unnecessary; we’re done here. She’s all yours.” 

He turns to the door but stops with his hand on the knob. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” 

Then he walks out of the apartment, silently shutting the door behind him.

The oxygen rushes from my body, and I wilt in on myself, dropping my head between my knees. Where my heart slowed to a slug’s pace with Matthew’s fury in front of me, it’s racing so fast I’m dizzy. Catherine slips next to me, Jackson jumps to follow Matthew out of the apartment, and Meredith lunges to follow Jackson with a cry. 

“Jackson. _Non_!” 

Catherine’s voice is loud and harsh, and I raise my head so fast I feel sick. Harriet looks around as if trying to figure out what’s going on. Jackson freezes with his hand on the doorknob, mimicking Matthew from just moments before, already huffing as if he’d taken the swing.

“You’ve done enough _dommage_ for one morning, _merci beaucoup_. Take Harriet and go. Get us something to eat. It’s been hours since she ate breakfast.” 

It’s a tone that expects obedience, and I can see Jackson struggle to rein himself back in. Jackson has always been very reactive in his emotions. When hurt, his first instinct is to cut back. It’s a minor comfort, I suppose, that he’s angry over something that’s happened to me instead of something that _I_ did to _him_. 

_This time._

Or rather, something I did to myself.

When his back stops heaving, he turns around with a forced smile and calls our daughter, picking her up and placing her on his hip.

“How about it, sweetie? Are you hungry? What do you want for lunch?” 

They take a few minutes to gather shoes, and the little dinosaur that Harriet insists on carrying everywhere, then together they leave the apartment.

Jackson doesn’t speak.

After they’re gone, Meredith drops heavily onto Catherine’s abandoned seat.

The three of us sit together in silence, with Catherine soothing anywhere her hands can reach. It takes several moments before Meredith breaks the tension.

“That was awkward.”

The laughter rips out of me, and I rub my hands up and down my arms. “Wow. Really, Mer?”

“I’m just speaking the truth. I have to get back to the hospital. Are you going to be okay if I leave?”

I look at Catherine, then nod my head in affirmation. 

“Yeah, I will. Hey, since it looks like I’m being banished from my home, can I crash with you for a couple of days? I promise it won’t be for long.”

She gives me a searching look before answering.

“Of course you can. I’ll pick you up after work. Text me if you need anything. Okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks. I’ll see you tonight.”

With one last hug, she follows Jackson out of the apartment. Catherine lets me stew in my thoughts for a minute before she speaks up.

“April _ma chérie_ , I know as Jackson’s _mére_ , I may not be the first person you’d choose to confide in. But if you want to talk about it, I do have some small experience in dealing with men who can’t handle a strong woman.”

There’s a twinkle in her eyes, but a sadness to her shoulders. As a female executive, she certainly has that.

“It’s not that. Or not completely. The truth of the matter is, this is a fight we’ve been having for months—years. It started the minute I asked Jackson to walk me down the aisle and has been running ever since. 

“Matthew wants to move away, and I said I couldn’t move away from

Jackson. I wanted to get back into surgery, and he told me anywhere but Grey Sloan. His first wife: she’s gone. But Jackson, above everything else, he’s still my oldest friend, and Matthew could never understand that. 

“I _did_ lie to him yesterday. He called to check on me after the shooting hit the news, and I flat out lied to him _Maman_. I knew he’d tell me to go home and that _he’d_ come rushing back. I knew what he’d say, and I knew that I would do it because that is in my nature. But I _wanted_ to be at the hospital. I wanted to help, and to set foot in the surgery suite again, and I knew—I knew if he knew—none of that would happen.” 

Catherine is making soothing noises next to me, still caressing my back.

“Plus, he called just as Jackson was stitching up my arm. That _certainly_ would have set Matthew off if I told him. Instead of talking to my husband, I let Jackson take care of me. Because he helped me get ready for surgery instead of trying to stop me as Matthew would have. So, I lied to my husband.”

I stop, but my mouth keeps moving, anyway.

“Jackson has always made me brave. I can be myself with him in ways I’ve never been able to duplicate with another human being. Even more so since the accident. Even when I’m a terrible, _hideous_ person. So, I lied to Matthew and did what I wanted, even though I knew how he felt about it. And now, once again, my own wants and needs have lost me my husband.” 

I can’t hold it in anymore. The stress of the past twenty-four hours floods out of me in wracking sobs.

Catherine gathers me into her arms, making reassuring noises, and patting my hair. 

“April _, tu arrêtes ça maintenant, ma fille_. You have done nothing wrong. You had every right to stop and gather yourself before you dealt with the needs of another person. What you went through? Every person on Earth would need a minute to collect their thoughts before they went charging into the next battle. You are _une chirurgien ma chérie_. That is _how_ you gather yourselves. 

“No matter what is going on outside in the world, the calm of the OR brings calmness to your souls If he can’t understand that child, then that is his loss. Not yours.” 

I am so tired, consumed by emotions and exhaustion. My crying subdues, but it took what little strength I had with it.

Catherine gets up and heads into the kitchen, and I lay my head down on the couch when she leaves. When _Maman_ comes back into the living room to see me lying on the sofa, she places the bottle of water and my pain pills on the table and lifts my head up off the seat, settling herself underneath me.

My eyes drift close as she runs her fingers through my hair.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Jackson

_Maman_ was right to send me out with Harriet. I hate it when she’s right. But I was seconds away from following Matthew out of the building and giving him a piece of my mind—and my fists. Wouldn’t that make the news cameras happy? 

_“Black ex-husband of hero surgeon kills current white husband in a fit of rage.”_

I’d get the electric chair for sure.

So, we’re at the diner down the road, and Harriet is happily coloring away on her menu.

How dare he treat her like that! And she just sat there and took it. The April _I_ know wouldn’t sit silently and accept his bullshit. She’d be up in his face screaming her head off at his audacity to speak to her in that tone. 

She’d cry that marriage isn’t filled with ultimatums, and that they took a vow until death. But no, she just perched there and watched him walk out on her. Less than twenty-four hours after she’d been involved in the most prominent shooting in recent Washington history. 

He should throw himself at her feet, thanking God for her survival. Instead, he— _what_? Did they honestly just break up in the middle of my living room? I mean, did he just leave her? Over what? 

Her not telling him about what happened? 

_Or that she was with me?_

What the fuck did he expect? Somebody had to take care of her. Am I supposed to apologize for taking care of my friend? For _loving_ her. Maybe if he’d answered his fucking phone instead of pouting like a baby, he’d have known all about it. She’s the mother of my child, for God’s sake, and she can’t even stand on her own two feet without help. Did he think we were going at it all night long? He better hope he doesn’t cross my path any time soon is all I have to say.

This entire day has thrown me off my game. I slept like crap. I must have been in my bedroom every thirty minutes checking on her. I should have just slept in there. 

Then _Maman_ was here by the ass-crack of dawn. She called the nanny and told her not to bother showing up. _Maman_ says on a day like today, we need our babies home with us, and I can’t say that she was wrong. We talked until Harriet woke up, then I twitched all morning until April came to. 

April’s phone was ringing off the hook. After I talked to her parents, I kept it with me in case Matthew called but eventually turned the ringer off. We’re going to have to change her number. I have no idea how the media outlets got a hold of it.

I enjoyed my conversation with her parents. Karen, at least, seemed appreciative that April was with someone who could look out for her.

It’s a relief when the food arrives. I can concentrate on something other than April. _Fuck me, man._

April in the damn shower. Scrubbing both of my hands over my face, I try to get the image out of my mind—and off of my body. I can’t get a hard-on in the middle of a restaurant with my daughter sitting next to me. 

I should never have gone in the damn room, but she was taking forever. She never popped out to say she was okay when she woke up, and we could hear her moving around upstairs. Then nothing. For all I knew she was unconscious on the bathroom floor. 

I needed to make sure she was okay. _It wasn’t my fault!_ I took one look at her like that, small and wet on the shower floor, and all of my common sense went out the window. It took all of my will power to remember that she wasn’t mine anymore, and not to let my baser instincts take over. Even then, I slipped. I slipped against her skin, slick from the water.

_Stop it, Avery!_

We bickered like we did in the old days, with sex in our voices and desire in our bodies. Fighting with someone is _not_ supposed to turn you on. But listening to her snap at me like that, all I want to do was spread her out on that couch and see how sore I could _really_ make her. 

_Jesus_ , I’m gonna need to get rid of that thing now _just_ from what happened in my imagination. 

Wrapping her hair in the towel that way? It had been automatic, like breathing. It’s something I used to do when we lived together. I loved it when her hair was wet and loose, dark against her pale skin after being towel dried. Sometimes we’d start out with her hair still in the towel, and our motions would leave it abandoned on the floor.

If Harriet and my mother weren’t there this morning, who knows what would have happened.

I shake myself to get the images out of my head. I would have pummeled Matthew, that’s for sure. Of course, if he’d have knocked on my door while I was ravishing his wife, maybe he’d have tried to pummel me first.

***

 _Maman_ sends me a text telling me to stay out of the apartment for a while, so after we eat lunch, I take Harriet with me to the hospital to check on my patients. 

Usually, I would put her in the daycare while I round, but I don’t have that many on the floor and I’m not technically on duty, so I keep her with me. I don’t even bother putting my lab coat on, just grab my stethoscope and wrap it around Harriet ’s neck to hold. I don’t want to be away from her today, and maybe she can help me smooth out any unhappiness my patients feel from my abandoning them.

Harriet charms them all, just like I expected her to, and I let my patients know that Dr. Kleise will handle their care for the rest of the week. When a patient asks me why, I tell them that Harriet’s mother was injured yesterday, and I need to be home with them. All I can do is smile and ignore the clenching in my gut and my heart when Mrs. Sandoval comments on what a dutiful father and husband I am. One of my patients even offers to let Harriet check her vitals for her. Harriet loves it. Says she’s just like Doc McStuffins.

“Jackson!” 

I smile as I turn, seeing Maggie hustling to me. She bends over to greet Harriet, then presses a kiss to my lips a little deeper than customarily shared in the hospital hallways. I can’t say that I blame her. It’s been a weird twenty-four hours.

“Hey, you guys. Were you looking for me? Did April and Matthew make it home, okay? I saw him here earlier. He was looking for her. Weird, right? He told me he’d been in Florida at his parents’ house and couldn’t get a flight back until this morning. He seemed really upset about it. I tried to tell him we took wonderful care of her, but I can’t imagine being away when something like that happens to the person you love.” 

She’s giving me these sad eyes, and I can only assume she’s talking about her and me. I close my eyes and try to rein in my irritation about the whole situation. 

So, she was the one to talk to Matthew. I bet he searched her out. Makes sense, since they know each other outside of the hospital. She had no way of knowing he was pissed about her being with me and not about her getting shot. The whole situation sets my blood on fire. 

“ _Ah, no_. No, April is still at home with my mom. Harriet here was hungry, and then we came in to check on my patients.” 

“When did your mom get to town?”

Alex comes into view, and Harriet pulls on my hand, wanting to run over to him.

“Walk, don’t run,” I admonish her, then watch as she skitters over to where Alex stops to greet her. He picks her up and gives her a fist bump, reaching into his pocket for a piece of candy. Why he still carries candy with him when he’s not with kids all day anymore is beyond me.

“Jackson, how’d it go with April this morning? Do we have our new ED Chief?“

Maggie takes a step away from me.

“What? April’s coming back to the hospital?” 

Her voice is hurt and embarrassed, angry that she’s getting information secondhand. I can only deal with so much at one time though, so I answer Alex first.

“She’s all right, but I’m going to take the rest of the week off. Put me back on the schedule for Monday. I already talked to Dr. Kleise about covering my service for the week. I just—I won’t be able to concentrate right now.”

“Dude, I get it. Remember when Mer got hurt by that patient? I barely left the hospital for weeks. The chair in that room probably still has my ass-print in it.” 

I remember. Thinking about that will only work me up. I can’t imagine what I would do if April was in the hospital like that, tubed and hurt for weeks. 

_Oh, wait, yes, I can._

I’ve already done that once. I can’t think about that right now. My emotions are too raw. 

_Focus on today, Avery._

“She said she’d take the job, but then something happened, and now I’m not so sure. Why don’t you guys come by after work tonight? We’ll order a pizza or something. She’s not moving around so great today. Her body realized she pushed it way past its limits. That reminds me, I need to get some supplies to change out her bandaging. I don’t think Minion Band-Aids are gonna cut it.”

“April’s still at your house? I’m so confused what’s happening right now.” 

Maggie is looking back and forth between Alex and me like she’s following a tennis match and we’re talking over her like she’s not even there. She looks perplexed, and where, a day ago, it may have been a cute look on her, today it reminds me how naïve she is.

“Cool,“ says Alex, still ignoring Maggie. “I’ll let Jo and Meredith know. I’ll see you tonight, Harriet.” 

He offers him her fist one more time before putting her down. 

“Bye Uncle Alex!” 

Alex never even acknowledges Maggie’s presence. I’m going to pay for that. 

Maggie is staring at me, waiting for an explanation.

“Come on, Maggie, let’s go to the supply closet. I need to grab some stuff.” 

Taking Harriet’s hand in mine, we wait for Maggie to put her tablet on the dock then head toward the supplies. I don’t know how much information to share, as it’s not my story to tell, but it’s apparent that she’s hurt at being left out of the loop. When we reach the room, I tell Harriet not to take anything out of its packaging, then grab stuff to change April’s bandage.

“Yes, April is still at my house. _Maman_ got on the plane as soon as she heard about the shooting.” 

I don’t know what the big deal is. Alex is right. Nobody batted an eye when he plastered himself to Mer and her kids after she got hurt. And those aren’t even his kids. Harriet is my daughter, and April is, well, April is mine. She’s Harriet’s mother and my oldest friend in the world. 

“She never told Matthew about yesterday. Apparently, he has a problem with her wanting to get back into surgery, and a problem with her coming back here specifically, and she was worried if she told him he’d throw a fit. Which he did, by the way.” 

I’m trying to control my anger, but it’s clear from Maggie’s reaction that it’s still slipping through.

“It’s not like she wasn’t ever going to tell him. She _tried_ to call him when we heard her name on the news, but he wasn’t answering his phone. Same with this morning. He must have been on the plane this morning. I don’t know what the hell his excuse was last night.”

 _Yes, I do._ He was throwing a temper tantrum.

“So, Matthew doesn’t want her working here, but she took a job, anyway? And why the Chief of the ED? Isn’t she more of an administrator these days?”

“An administrator? Did you not see what she did yesterday, Maggie? Anyway, that’s been in talks for a while now. April running the Emergency Room. The department hasn’t run right since she left. The events of yesterday just moved up the timeline some. I think the board wants everything completed before they have to release another statement to the press.” 

“Okay, well that makes sense. I guess. But why didn’t you tell me that April was coming back?”

“It’s a board issue, Maggie. They’re trying to make sure that we cover all the departments while causing the least disruption. Now they have a full-time cardiatric attending for you in Altman, she keeps the title of chief she deserves as an award winning cardiatric surgeon, and we have someone with the skills and knowledge of the way we run things running the busiest department in the hospital.”

Her lips flatten into a straight line, and I feel myself getting defensive. 

“It’s not like it’s my decision, Maggie. I had nothing to do with it. I found out about it at the same time April did.”

“Yeah okay, no, that makes total sense. It’s a board issue, got it.” 

She’s upset, but I don’t know how to apologize for something that I didn’t realize I was doing wrong. I pull her into a hug instead.

“I get that, not telling me about April coming back to the hospital. It isn’t a done deal from the sounds of it. What I don’t get is where _you_ play into this. Why are you so mad?” 

Breaking the hug, I put some space between us.

“Because April was shot yesterday, Maggie. Why does nobody seem to care about that? They shot her, doing her job and helping dozens of people. And all Matthew cares about is that she spent the day in the hospital with us without his permission. 

“He would rather she is weak and subservient, waiting at home like some good little housewife instead of using the gifts that God gave her and saving the lives of innocent people. He’s trying to take this independent and vibrant woman and squish her into this tiny little box. 

“You should have seen her, Maggie. Covered head to toe in blood. Strangers mixed with her own; and she didn’t hesitate for a second to demand an OR to help her patient. Then _he_ shows up, and it was like a switch flipped. She can’t walk, her body quivering from abuse and exhaustion, and she just sat there and took all the bullshit he laid at her feet.”

I know my mother’s feminism is showing through, but you can’t be raised by _The_ Catherine Fox-Avery without having a thing for powerful women, and April is nothing if not that. I’m surrounded by them all day every day and feel lucky to be so.

“But she wasn’t really doing her job, Jackson. Her job is to give homeless people Band-Aids and flu shots. If anything, she could have made things worse yesterday. I would never have been stupid enough to chase down an active gunman. I would have grabbed those I could and got the hell out of there! If she lied to Matthew about it, doesn’t he have every right to be angry with her? I mean, how would you feel if that had been me?”

Maggie’s absolutely right. _She_ would never have had the courage and strength to chase down a gunman. 

“The point, Maggie, is that she felt she had to lie, to begin with.” 

I don’t know why this has made me so livid, only that it has. I can hear my heartbeat, and my temper has run away from me. 

_Again_. 

I clear my throat and do my best to put a smile on my face. This isn’t the place to get into this conversation. Harriet has stopped his playing and is looking at me to make sure his daddy is okay. 

I need to get back home to April.

“Anyway, it’s been a stressful couple of days. Just ignore me. Are you coming over tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there after work.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.” 

I give her a kiss and try to settle myself into my skin before we head home. 

***

We swing through the drive-through of April’s favorite burger place as we head home. Harriet is asleep in the back, and I can’t stop my eyes from wandering to her. When Harriet is active and moving, like she is ninety percent of the time, she looks like me. She has my tight curls versus April’s free ones, and my eye shape and color, but her hair is a much lighter color than mine. 

I secretly hope that it’ll turn a little red as she gets older. Her skin tone is an exquisite mixture of April’s and my own, and freckles are already coating her cheekbones. 

When she’s sleeping, I can see pieces of April coming through her. Looking at her dozing in the back seat of my car, she is still and peaceful and looks _so_ much like her mother. 

It’s already three o’clock, and I know if I wake her up, she’s gonna be a grump before bedtime, so I ease her out of the car seat as gently as possible. 

She wakes up lightly and I make soothing noises, rubbing circles into her back as she puts his head down on my shoulder and drifts back to sleep. Thinking about the irony of carrying her mother up this same elevator yesterday brings a smile to my face. 

It takes skill to open the door without dropping the food or waking Harriet. 

I don’t know what I was expecting, but April asleep with her head on my mother’s lap is _not_ it. 

_Maman_ looks like she may be asleep, too, and they look so peaceful together. _Maman’s_ eyes are closed, and her head is resting on the back of the couch, with her hand on April’s head. 

An ache hits me deep in my chest, and for several seconds, I stand there with my sleeping child in my arms looking at my sleeping wife.

_Ex-wife._

I come back to the living area after putting Harriet in her bed. April is up and stretching with a grimace of pain etched into her face.

Pulling the food onto her lap, she shoots me a death glare. 

“If you say one more _I told you so_ about how sore I am I’ll fling this burger at your head.”

Chuckling, I put my hands up in surrender and sit on the armchair next to the couch. 

“According to you, you already hear my voice in your brain. I don’t think I need to say it out loud for you to know it’s true.”

She shoots me daggers with her eyes, but this is the most relaxed I’ve been in twenty-four hours. 

_God, she’s beautiful._

Rubbing her hand across April’s cheek, _Maman_ stands and gathers her things.

“Jackson, your papa arrived this afternoon. He’s at the house. I think I will go see my husband and then take a nap. I’ll have everything arranged for tomorrow morning, April.”

“I’ll be there. And Catherine, thank you. _Je t’aime, maman._ ” I love you, mother.

“ _Le plaisir est pour moi, amour_. I’ll see you then.” You are more than welcome, my love. 

I wonder how many other former in-laws still whisper sweet nothings to each other in the language of love? My wife not getting along with my mother was never one of my problems.

“Jackson, walk me to the car _mon_ _fils_?”

“Of course, _Maman_.” Turning to April, I ask, “Will you be okay on your own?”

“Go, Jackson, I’m fine.” 

Taking a bite way too big for her mouth, I hear a moan and what I think is “God I’m starving _”_ as I follow my mother out the door.

 _Maman_ waits for me to leave the apartment, then wraps her arm in mine.

“I am so proud to have her as a daughter. _C’est une femme forte_.” That is a strong woman in there, she says. _Too strong sometimes._

“I know _Maman_.”

“The police called her while you were out. They have her personal items. She can come to pick them up at any time. She said she was going to take an Uber to get her car, but that’s _ridicule_.”

“Of course, M _aman_. I’ll take her to go get it.” 

This feels ominous. I don’t usually agree with her this often. It’s making me nervous.

“I know you will. She arranged to meet with the men who took down the gunman tomorrow. They’ll use one of the conference rooms at the hospital. Then she’ll give a statement to the press. We’ll announce her promotion at the hospital at the same time.”

“So, she’s still going to accept the job?”

“ _Pshaw_. You don’t think she’d let something like a man stop her from what she wanted to do, did you? When has she ever before? April is a surgeon. It’s a calling, not a choice. You’d think after all that she’s given up for it, _you_ included, he would have understood that fact. And Jackson?” It’s a kick in the gut to hear her say it so brashly like that. I don’t think that’s the way things went down. 

_But I let her go, didn’t I?_

I can feel the lecture coming from my mother already. She never can mind her own business.

“Yes, M _aman_?”

“Stay out of it, Jackson. Matthew is her problem, not yours.” 

She says problem in French, and it makes her sound like a condescending grandmother. If I told her that though, she’d borrow April’s scalpel and run me through. Soaking in what she’s said and not how she’s said it, my smile falls into a scowl.

Matthew has been a pain in my ass since the minute he laid eyes on April, and nothing about that has changed in all this time.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

## April

## Valerie – Amy Winehouse

Jackson isn’t back by the time I finish my burger. Relaxing with the water bottle Catherine got me earlier, I look at my phone. It’s been a little over an hour since I had my last pain pills. I took two at Catherine’s urging, and can already tell that that was a mistake. 

It would explain why I was asleep in my mother-in-law’s lap. It would also explain why I’m not the least bit embarrassed about it. _Ex_ mother-in-law.

I set the alarm on my phone to wake me up tomorrow, then drop it back on the couch. There has been nothing from Matthew, not that I expect there to be. Jackson got me enough clothes to last me another day, but if I’m giving a press conference tomorrow, I need something other than skinny jeans and a Black Widow t-shirt. 

I’ll Uber and get my stuff from the station tomorrow, then get my car and head to the house before I go to the hospital. I don’t care what Matthew said about waiting for him to call. He’s not so mad he’ll change the locks on me between now and tomorrow.

If he still doesn’t let me in the house after a few days, I’ll move into a hotel. Catherine reminded me I still have the trust fund they set up for my use in case I need it. I hate it, so I never touch it. But it’s there for a reason. I knew Jackson was rich when we married. Like, _really_ rich. 

But I didn’t quite realize how much. When we married, his parent’s wedding gift to me was a trust fund in my name outside of my marital property, after the post-nup was signed. 

It stayed with me when we divorced, but I don’t think I’ve ever touched it. I just planned on adding it to Harriet’s in time. But using it to help with a place to live would be for Harriet, right? Or at least that’s how _Maman_ justified it. 

His parents really are fantastic.

I have to go potty, but I’m still so shaky. The pain meds have _really_ gone to my head this time. I don’t know if that’s good for my coordination or bad for it. This is worse than when Harriet was born. Gathering my resolve, I push up off of the couch, leaning on my non-injured arm to do so. Once I’m solidly on my feet, I wobble my way to the front restroom. 

Is that the front door? 

The panicked “April,” hollering from the front room tells me that it was. 

I crack the bathroom door, then yell at him. 

“I’m in the hall bathroom, take a chill pill.” I leave the door ajar; it’s not like I haven’t peed in front of him before.

“God, don’t scare me like that.” 

The relief I feel emptying my bladder allows me to ignore my irritation at this sudden onset OCD of my whereabouts.

“Seriously, Jackson, I’m just going pee.”

“Where was this lip when we needed it earlier today?” 

I don’t think he meant for me to hear that, as it was quieter than the rest, so I pretend that I didn’t. I’m assuming he meant with Matthew. I just didn’t have the energy to deal with Matthew this morning. Once I turn the water on to wash my hands, Jackson opens the door the rest of the way and leans against the door frame. 

I try to remember if I’ve ever told him how sexy that is? 

Because his cocky casualness leaning against the door frame watching me wash my hands is hot. No doubt about it. I don’t think he knows. I wonder if I ask him to stop, if he’d make me tell him why? And could I tell him without wanting to crawl up his body?

_Shitballs._

That’s it; I’m not taking any more of these pills. My brain filter has gone _straight_ out the window. At least my mouth filter is still in place. 

_For now._

This is worse than being drunk.

“Well, _Maman_ is gone. I changed my voicemail to refer all calls to my publicist and doesn’t _that_ sound weird, so the constant ringing has almost stopped, and Harriet is still sound asleep. Whatever shall we do with ourselves?”

With the rising of his eyebrows, I feel a blush creep up my neck and over my cheeks. 

“You know what I mean. Let’s go watch TV, and you can tell me about your day. Come here. Come help me.” 

He steps close and bends his knees to wrap his arm under my shoulders, but I grab his hand and hold it to my chest, using it to steady me. He doesn’t pull away, just keeps me tighter to him and matches his step to mine.

 _This is disconcerting._ This isn’t how a Kepner behaves as a houseguest. Polite and helpful, that’s how I was raised. Not mouthy and flirty. Is that what I’m doing? _Am I flirting with Jackson?_ It’s been a long time. 

_No more pain pills!_

Back in the living room, he kisses my hand before he lets it go, then settles himself on the other side of the couch. I sit my butt in the corner then stretch my legs out in front of me on the cushions. This really is a lovely sofa. It’s big and deep; perfect for snuggling. I wonder how many times he and Maggie have made out on this couch? 

_Don’t go there, April._ Quick, think of something to say.

“Show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.”

_Jesus April._

Did I just ask him to strip for me? Oh God, I wish the couch would swallow me whole.

“Excuse me? Besides, I’ve already seen yours today.”

Oh. My. God.

The smile on his face is sexy as fuck. And now my mouth filter is gone too. I can’t stop giggling. Reaching into my pocket, I toss him the pill container.

“Here, take these. I wanted to keep the bottle because it had both of our names on it and it made me nostalgic, but I don’t want it anymore.

My filters are completely gone. I just meant to tell me about your day.”

“You’re stoned!”

“I am not! I’m just a smidgen looser with my tongue than I am on a normal day.”

“I don’t remember you like this after Harriet was born. You must have been on massive pain killers then.”

“Nope!” 

I snap it with pride, letting my grin split my face. 

“I was breastfeeding, remember? Stuck to only Advil and Tylenol. Why do you think it took so long for me to get up and around? Besides that, I have an amazing pain tolerance. I only took them this time to humor you. Because this was the first time I could remember you ever writing me a prescription, and it made me nostalgic. And then _Maman_ said I needed to take them. And she made me take two instead of one. But I seem to be humoring you in more ways than I should be, so it’s gotta stop. I can tough it out from here. I should be way better tomorrow, anyway. I feel like I did when we ate all those pot brownies after the legalization.”

“ _Maman_? You’re calling her Mom even when she’s not here?”

“Shhhhh, don’t tell her. It’ll go to her head, and she’ll never let me call her anything else again. I love her so much, but she’s _soooooo_ bossy. Now that Matthew’s gone, she’ll be like ‘April _Chérie_! You need a man in your life. You know a woman functions at her best when she has a man in her bed.’ _Maman_ gets me, on like, a fundamental level. _Maman_ is awesome.”

“Missing your filters, huh?” 

He looks so damn cute the way he’s grinning at me, and my face grins at him in return.

“Not completely. I didn’t tell you how hot you looked leaning up against the doorframe in the bathroom earlier. With your arms crossed over your chest and your muscles flexing, and your legs crossed at the ankles? _Hot hot hot hot hot._ But nope! I kept that to myself. I also didn’t tell you I love that beard on you. I wish you would have grown one this thick when we were together. 

“I want to run my fingers through it. Maybe tug on it a little. But I don’t think it’s long enough for that. You’ve reminded me of Black Panther a lot today. Money, sophistication, super strength, speed. The way you carried me to the couch? So hot! I have a personal superhero. I could go Black Lightning with you, but Black Panther is ridiculously rich. _Check_! And you know I’m a Marvel girl at heart.”

“ _Okaaay_. April is stoned. Got it.” 

Even with his darker complexion, I can see the heat rush to his cheeks, and his eyes darken in color. He is so pretty. God, I’ve missed him.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? Should I not have told you how hot you are?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Please continue.”

“You’re so pretty. Thank you for helping me today. And last night. And today.”

“What are the chances you’ll remember any of this?” 

He’s still smiling, with his head turned to the side like he’s thinking about something, so I smile back.

“Well, it’s proven that patients with a low tolerance to narcotics— which I think we can agree I’m displaying right now—have a higher likelihood of suffering from memory loss while using said narcotic, so I’d say pretty it’s pretty decent odds that I won’t. At least if I took a nap or something. But I’m not tired right now. So maybe I will! Who knows? I really want to kiss you with that beard. Maybe I should take a nap.”

I can’t interpret the look Jackson is giving me, but maybe it’s because I’ve sprouted a second head. 

I wish Meredith was here! She is always so much fun to get drunk with.

“I think I hear my blood flowing.” 

“Wow. Stoned. Well anyway, I told Alex and the gang to come over tonight. Maggie too.”

“That sounds like fun! It’ll be awesome to hang out with everyone! Meredith’s supposed to pick me up tonight before she heads home, anyway. I’ll send her a text to come over with everyone else in case they haven’t told her already. We can have a party!”

“What? What do you mean to pick you up? Where are you going?” 

He looks panicked, and I giggle at his continuation of the _Where’s April game_. I’m giggling a lot. That makes me laugh.

“My husband just left me, remember? You should be familiar with that since you did it too. Only you were nice enough to leave me a place to live when you did it. So, thank you for that.” He looks hurt, and I don’t want him to look hurt. We were having so much fun!

“April.”

“Don’t look sad, Jackson. I get sad when you get sad. And anyway, Meredith said that I could crash at her house for a few days until Matthew comes around, or I can get an apartment. Personally, I don’t think Matthew will come around.”

I put my fingers to my lips and make the shushing sound, motioning him closer. 

“Don’t tell anyone, but I don’t really care. I think I’ve proven that I’m a terrible wife. Apparently, I’m a surgery whore who can’t keep a husband. 

“So, no more husbands for me. Surgery will be my lover. I’ll crash with Meredith until I get a better income than what working with the homeless pays, _bless their hearts,_ then I’ll look for a place for Harriet and me.”

“What do you mean you don’t care? You don’t care that your husband left you?” 

His eyes squint in anger, and I don’t want to deal with a teed off Jackson. A yawn rips through me, and my jaw tries to unhinge from my face. Maybe I need a nap after all.

“It’s okay. Let’s not talk about it. I don’t want to make you mad.” 

It sounds all distorted, as I didn’t bother to finish yawning before I talked. 

“Let’s watch a movie!”

His demeanor changes instantly, and he scoots closer to me on the couch. Grinning ear to ear again, he whispers, “No, I want to know. You know I’ll keep it a secret. I’m your bestie. You can tell me.”

He’s right. Jackson is my bestie. My voice dips and I lean closer since we’re sharing in a conspiracy. 

“Well, he’s not _really_ leaving me because I’m going back into surgery silly.”

“He’s not?”

“No. Not. I’ve gotten offers to be an attending or to run trauma programs all over the country. I’m kinda good at my job, _if_ you didn’t notice. Seattle General sent me an offer before I’d even finished out my last shift with Grey Sloan. I could have gone anywhere else without a problem. Matthew left me because I picked you over him. And that’s a choice I’m always going to make. So now I’ll go stay with Meredith. Make sense?”

“No. I mean, yes? _What_?” 

His face scrunches up all cute, and he scrubs at the back of his neck again. Maybe he has an itch?

“You picked me over Matthew?”

A yawn slips out again. I need to get up and move around. I feel so good.

“Every day of the week and twice on Sundays!”

“Okay. Then why aren’t you staying here?”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jackson. We’ve been hanging out for less than a day, and I’m already thinking about how hot you are. And other dirty, _dirty_ things. That’s why I moved out the last time we tried to live together, remember? 

“Because I couldn’t be in the same house with you without wanting to jump you. And you’re in love with Maggie. I seemingly still can’t be in the same house. You’re my kryptonite. My strength _and_ my weakness.” 

My giggles pick up until another yawn leaks out, and I stretch from my toes to my head. It hurts, but feels so good too. My legs pick up and flop them right into Jackson’s lap.

I smile at his grunt of surprise.

“I’m never taking one of those pills again. I’d rather be in pain. I can’t believe addicts like feeling like this. I mean it’s _awesome_ , but I’m going to regret it when it’s over.” 

“I think we’re both going to regret this when it’s over.”

Harriet comes around the corner, rubbing her eyes.

“Harriet!” 

I open my arms wide, and she crawls into my lap and snuggles in tight to me. Jackson smiles at us fondly, and I let the drugs take me to a happy place. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

## Jackson

## She Used to Be Mine, Sara Bareilles

Her laughter is infectious. It’s probably what woke up Harriet. I haven’t seen her this loose and free in years.

It was fun listening to April ramble on about how hot I am. Up until she brought up me leaving her. Then I felt like someone kicked me in the balls. When she brought up Matthew leaving her, I felt the earth shift under my feet. She’s stoned out of her mind, so I don’t know how much of her words I can take at face value. But she seemed secure in her thought process. Just more open about it, then she normally is.

What she said about not staying with me for now? Is that why she moved out after Harriet was born? I always thought she wanted to move on, that she was ready to get on with her life. She had been dating, hadn’t she? But I guess she wasn’t. Not really. Not after we’d gotten pregnant. My mind is reeling. 

But she’s stoned. 

I have to take what she’s said with a grain of salt. I shake my head to clear it of everything that’s passed between us and watch my family in the moment, instead of worrying about the past.

Harriet crawls into April’s lap, and I’m afraid that April will drop her. But Harriet isn’t a baby anymore, and an unexpected slip to the floor won’t cause her any harm. At Harriet’s request, we turn to TV to the Disney channel, and I settle in to watch some Mickey Mouse.

***

“Hey, guys.” 

I look over to where Jo is pointing, and in the armchair is April, curled up sound asleep. The gang got here around eight, bringing with them pizza, beer, and hospital gossip. They asked April questions about what happened during the shooting, but she looked at me with a pleading expression, and I shut it down. Thankfully stoned April was almost gone by the time they showed up, and we had a fun evening.

“I think that’s our cue to leave,” says Alex, helping Jo to her feet. The girls gather beer bottles and paper plates and bring everything into the kitchen.

Alex and Jo wave their goodbyes, and I join the others in the living room. 

“Who’s going to wake her up?”

“Not me,” says Meredith.

“I’ll go get her bag,” Maggie says, rocking into motion.

“No.” 

I grab her by the arm to stop her, then give her a smile.

“She’s gonna stay here guys. Harriet doesn’t need to be going back and forth if she doesn’t have to, and you guys don’t need another kid in the house to deal with in the mornings. Besides, I doubt April is gonna wake up tomorrow doing jumping jacks like she seems to think she’ll be.” 

When we were all residents’ we all shared a house, and Amelia and Meredith have been living together off and on since then. Alex and Meredith adopted her into the weird little bond they have, and now everyone refers to them as _The TwistedSisters_. 

The sisters talk with their mind powers, then Meredith squares her shoulders. 

“But Jackson, isn’t this what made Matthew so upset to begin with, her staying with you? What will he do when he asks how she’s been, and she’s all ‘Yeah, Jackson’s apartment is great.’”

“I don’t give a shit what Matthew thinks.” 

I say it quick and hard and am surprised by my own intensity. Mer brings her hands up in front of her in surrender, and before they can say anything else about it, I walk over and collect April into my arms from the chair, carrying her up the stairs and into the guest room. 

After all, I am her superhero.

Placing her on the bed, I try to rouse her by rubbing her face. 

“April wake up for just a minute baby. You don’t want to sleep in your jeans.” 

She wiggles around on the bed and does no more. Sighing, I unbutton them and shimmy them over her hips. Once they’re off, I tuck her in and turn off the light, giving her a kiss on the forehead. On a whim, I place the pill bottle on her bedside table just in case she changes her mind. 

I kind of liked stoned April.

Maggie is sitting in an empty living room when I get back. Meredith, and Amelia must have taken off, the cowards.

“Ready for bed?” I ask her without much optimism, hoping to avoid the fight. She straightens on the couch, squaring up for battle. Making a sideline into the kitchen for a beer, I drop into the chair I just removed April from. I’m going to need the booze.

“What Maggie? She’s hurt. What do you want me to do?”

“Yes, and at Meredith’s house, she has three doctors to monitor her.” 

“Deluca is still a resident; he doesn’t count. They all have services to run and other responsibilities. I took the rest of the week off. I can help her until she gets back on her feet.”

“I love you for how worried you are for her. But that’s not your job anymore. You get that, right? You aren’t behaving as an ex-husband should. This isn’t normal behavior.”

“She’s not just my ex-wife Maggie. She’s the mother of my child. She’s my first love, and above all of that, she’s my oldest friend. Nobody bats an eye every time Alex moves in with Meredith if she needs some help. Or when he drops everything when Mer's in some kind of crisis. But when I do it, you accuse me of being inappropriate.”

“It’s not the same at all, Jackson, and you know it. If you don’t, then you’re willfully ignorant of the fact.”

Moving over to the couch, I take her face into both of my hands. I kiss her, trying to put all my affection for her into the simple gesture. 

“Maggie, I love you.”

“I know you do, Jackson. I do. I just think you need to consider how you feel about April.”

With that, she gets up and leaves the apartment.

_Fuck me, man._

With nothing else to do, I chug the rest of my beer. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

## April

It doesn’t surprise me to wake up and see that I’m still at Jackson’s place. The lights are off, and it’s dark and quiet. It must be the middle of the night. What does surprise me is rolling over and seeing Jackson asleep in the bed next to me. He’s wearing lounge pants and a muscle shirt and is curled up on top of the blankets. I know he’s a warm sleeper, but he looks cold coiled up upon himself like that. 

Flipping to my other side and grabbing my phone off of the bedside table, I’m shocked to see my alarm is about to go off any minute now. I turn it off so it doesn’t disturb Jackson, then take my side of the blanket and toss it over him. 

I have to go pee, and I climb out of bed as gently as possible. I’m still sore this morning, but without the fine quaking of yesterday. Now it just feels like the day after you have a killer workout for the first time in a decade. The only thing that doesn’t feel better is my arm. Seeing I was shot at close range, I guess that makes sense.

Unfortunately. 

I’m still in yesterday’s clothes, minus my jeans. I hate sleeping in pants and Jackson knows it, but I’m not sure how I feel about him stripping me two nights in a row. 

Speaking of which, this is the first time I’ve gone pee by myself since we left the hospital. Smiling at the thought, I turn on the shower after I wash my hands, and head back into the room to get my remaining clean clothes. This shower is nice, but it isn’t as impressive as the master shower is. 

Maggie’s not here, right? 

I mean, he wouldn’t have passed out in the guest bed with me if Maggie was here, would he? _Is it weird to shower in his room two days in a row?_

Oh well. Seeing as I’m here instead of at Meredith’s house, I’ll assume that he won’t care where I shower. Walking by the hall bathroom, I turn off the water and head into Jackson’s with my bag, relieved to find it empty. Hopefully, when I can prove to him I’m doing better, he’ll get over his _Where’s April_ worry and get back to his life. I wasn’t hurt any worse than I have been in the past. We were even joking about it last night—I’m a lightning rod for crazy accidents. But Jackson’s response seems to be a little extreme this time. 

_Maybe because this time involved bullets, April._

I do love this shower. It’s even better now that I’m not sitting on the floor. My pickup is supposed to be here by seven, and I have an appointment at the police station at 7:30 a.m. to collect my purse and such. _Shitballs._ I never got the cleats for Harriet. Her starts soccer next week. Since I have no idea when the mall will open back up, and honestly, I’m not sure when I’ll be ready to go back, I guess I’ll break down and get them from Payless after all. I’ll have some time this weekend. 

I turn and let the water pound my back, enjoying the massage-like quality.

I’m not looking forward to today. Press conferences, meeting with the police, and meeting with the guys who took down the gunman. 

I can only see that meeting going two ways; either they’ll yell at me like most of my family has done, or thank me as everybody else has. Frankly, I’m tired of both. I like to think I did what any other doctor in my place would, anybody with the skills I possess. I know Jackson would have, no matter how many times he tries to snap at me. Any one of my hospital family would have done the same thing I did. If those guys go the other route—tell me how irresponsible it was for a little woman like me to follow the path of a shooter—well, I may have to stab them with the business end of my scalpel. Show them how much damage a helpless little woman like me can cause.

I wonder if I could ask Jackson to meet with them with me? I’m so uncomfortable with all of this attention. 

The bathroom door cracks open, and Jackson pops in, once again with his back towards me and looking at the ceiling. 

_Speak, and he shall appear_. Or think, I guess.

“Martha should be here any minute. Keep the water going when you get out, and I’ll hop in after you. We can go get your car and bring it back here before we go to the house.” 

“I told you I’d take an Uber, Jackson.” 

“Yup. You did. And I told you that’s not happening. Hurry up.” 

With that, he leaves the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door behind him. 

I know he can’t see me, but I roll my eyes anyway and rinse out my hair. 

Five minutes later, I’m standing in front of the mirror trying to dry off with only one good arm when Jackson comes in, pulling his shirt off as he enters. He talks before he sees me and stops in his tracks when he finally does. 

“Okay. Martha’s here. Coffee’s made, _aaand_ you’re still not dressed.” 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, okay. My arm—I’m struggling some. Does Maggie have a blow dryer? I can take it into the other bathroom and use it to dry off.”

“ _Ummm_ ,” he grumbles, but he’s just standing there staring at me. I know I’m bruised. Catherine was right about me tearing myself up. My entire arm is black and blue from elbow to shoulder. It’ll look worse before it looks better; we tell patients that every day. But it must be bad for him to be staring at me like this. 

“Jackson. Wake up.” 

I snap in front of his face.

He gives himself a shake like a dog shedding water. 

“What? Oh yeah. What did you want? A blow dryer? Yeah, there’s one under the second sink, I think.” 

Before I can move, he marches over and opens it past the childproofing. That’s pretty worthless at this point, anyway. Harriet ’s been able to get around childproofing for years now. He takes out the blow dryer and puts it on the counter, then pulls the chair from the corner to the middle of the room. Once again, he pushes me into it then pushes my head to my knees to wrap my hair in the towel. He’s gentler now that his movements are no longer tinged with anger. 

It still sends zings down my body, I have goosebumps popping out all over, but Jackson just keeps on like it’s something he does every day. 

_Maybe it is._

I’m not sure why that thought makes me sad, but I push it to the back of my brain. Taking a third, smaller hand towel, he rubs it over my shoulders and arms, then drops into a squat on my left side to examine my bandaging. It’s easy to remove. I shouldn’t be getting it as wet as I have been, even with the waterproof bandaging. 

Doctors make the worst patients. Do as I say, not as I do, right? 

Jackson pushes and prods it with his fingers, and I grimace in pain but refuse to let out a sound. If he thinks it’s hurting me, he’ll make me take a pill, and I am not doing that again. Maybe at bedtime, but that’s it. I’m sure I made a fool of myself yesterday. That I can’t remember much outside of him holding my hand and Doc McStuffins does nothing to ease the fear that I was doubtless a word vomiting moron.

“It looks good, but I’ll re-bandage it after I get out of the shower. I can’t clear you to operate yet, so when Alex asks, we’ll tell him another two weeks, at least. I want a Cat Scan and an MRI done while we’re at the hospital today, just to make sure that the muscles inside are healing as they should be.”

“Clear me? Since when did you become my personal physician, _Dr. Avery?”_

“Since you walked into my ED with a gunshot wound, _Dr. Kepner_.” 

He throws my sharp tone right back at me, and I can’t help but smirk. This is us of old; bickering like maids. Kind of reminds me of Derek and Meredith back in the day. 

“Well, it’s my ED now, mister.”

“It may be your ED, but it’s still my hospital. Now get out so we can leave. I’ll be ready in twenty. _Maman_ will skin me alive if we’re late today.” 

***

True to his word, twenty minutes later, I’m sitting at the kitchen counter making small talk with Martha with a coffee cup in my hands when Jackson comes out dressed with shoes on. However, instead of heading into the kitchen with us, he drifts into the living room, lifting couch cushions and looking under the living room table. I have to say it. I can’t help myself.

“You know Jackson; you’d think after all these years you’d remember to put your keys back where they belong.” 

I point to the keyholder on the organizer that sits on the kitchen counter. It also has a spot for mail and the home phone with a pad of paper and a pen. I know, because I bought it.

“You know _April_ ,” and there’s an emphasis my name “you’d think after all these years you’d realize I will never use the stupid key holder you insist on foisting on me.”

“Then why do you have one when we don’t live together anymore?”

He flounders like a fish, unable to come up with a response and I revel in the argument’s win.

“You guys are so cute,” comes from Martha, and I shoot her a glance before I go back to watching Jackson crawling on his hands and knees in the living room.

“Aha! Found them!”

He shakes them at me in success, then grabs his bag up off of the floor and comes into the kitchen with us. As he settles himself on the stool next to me, Martha excuses herself to go check on Harriet. 

“Are you doing okay?” 

He peeks at me while gathering the supplies he needs to re-wrap my arm. 

“I won’t lie to you and say I feel perfect. But I’m better than yesterday. I’m nervous. Will you—will you stay with me when I’m meeting with everybody?” 

“Of course I will. I wasn’t planning on leaving your side unless I physically have to.” 

“Even then, you’d only hover right out of the line of sight.” 

“What can I say, you know me pretty well.” 

With a smile, he takes out the antibiotic cream and starts rubbing it over my stitches. 

“We can take these out in another week as long as it keeps healing this nicely. You need to take it easy. You know it’ll only take longer to heal if you push yourself. If I had my way, you wouldn’t be doing any of this shit today. We could just have someone deliver the car to us, you know.” 

“You know I can’t afford that Jackson.” 

“April, we can afford to have the car brought home.” 

When he sees my displeased face, he tries again. 

“How about we compromise? I don’t want you driving, and you don’t want to pay to have someone pick up your car. Let’s go get your stuff from the police, then go to the house. We can save the car for the end of the day, and someone from the hospital can come with us and drive it back to my garage. I bet Mom and Dad will want to have dinner or something tonight, anyway. They can help us out.” 

“I hate to admit it, but that’s a solid plan. Okay, you have a deal.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

## April

As it happens, we make it to the hospital this morning with plenty of time for my first meeting. The police not only had my purse and keys, but a bag with the cleats for Harriet in them. There was a note taped to the bag that said, _Thank You, No Charge._ I was ashamed of the tears it brought to my eyes until Jackson squeezes my hand and clears his throat to get the emotion out of his. Then I let them drip freely.

The mall will be cordoned off for at least another week while they figure out how he got a duffel bag full of loaded weapons into it with no one noticing, and how to prevent it from happening again. Because of that, my car was impounded. Because of who I am, they offer to have an officer bring it back to the apartment by the end of shift. I sign the required paperwork as Jackson writes the code for the garage. I guess it pays to be _Seattle’s Own Savior._

I heard that on the radio this morning. It’s so freaking cheesy it makes me want to puke.

Matthew is neither home nor has he changed the locks on me. 

“I’ll be right back, you can stay in the car.”

Jackson just gives me his _Are you fucking stupid?_ look and follows me into the house. He’s brought a duffel bag with him from his apartment and doesn’t hesitate to follow me back into the bedroom and help me collect clothes and stuff. 

“How do you know where everything is?” 

“Didn’t you wonder who packed your bag the first time? Besides, I’ve lived with you for the better part of—what did you say this morning?

Ten years, give or take?”

“No. Well, yes, I did wonder. But I just assumed that I did and simply didn’t remember it.” 

“I tried to wake you up, but you were reluctant to do so. If I told you what you said to me, we probably couldn’t still be friends.” 

That shit-eating grin of his is back, and I’m petrified of what I may have said in my drug induced haze. 

“In that case, not only do I not want to know, I’m going to need you to get a concussion and forget the last forty-eight hours please.” 

“Not a chance. April on drugs is a side of you I could have _real_ fun with. Wanna talk about what you said to me yesterday?” 

“Oh, God.” 

Covering my face with my hands, I pray for the ground to open up and swallow me whole. 

Taking another small carry-on bag out of my closet and throwing it at him with my good arm, I tell him, “You know what? Here, go gather some of Harriet ’s favorite things from her room. I know she has a loaded room at your house, but she may want something from mine, anyway.” 

Laughing to himself, or at me—probably at me—he does as I’ve bid him and heads out of my bedroom. 

I pull the lockbox from underneath the bed and use my thumbprint to open it. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, or if he’s honestly left me for choosing to go back to Grey Sloan, but either way, there are things I’ll need. Birth certificates and social security cards. I pull out the file that has my marriage certificate, post-nup, and divorce papers from Jackson and shove it into my bag. I grab all the banking information for mine and Harriet ’s trust funds too. If this is a permanent thing, better not to leave anything important behind. 

I don’t know how I feel about this yet. I haven’t taken the time to process it. On the one hand, the thought of another failed marriage breaks my heart down to my core. 

On the other, I don’t think I could be with a man who needs me to change who I am to be with him. After all, isn’t that why Jackson, and I broke up? Because he needed me to be something I couldn’t be? If I couldn’t do that for Jackson, there’s no way I could do it for Matthew. 

I don’t even have the desire to try this time. 

***

Jackson and I are sitting in the conference room waiting for the boys from the mall to show up. The press conference is this afternoon in front of the hospital. I’m hoping pictures of the three of us together and our version of events, or at least what little we can talk about without interfering with the police investigation, will loosen the demands for interviews. I’ve tried to avoid the news as much as possible, but I know that they have given no interviews either. 

When Jackson heard that I was using the foundation’s publicist to help me manage this circus, he offered the same to them. They must have had a more in-depth conversation than he’d let on if he had their cell phone numbers programmed into his phone, but I figured that it wasn’t my place to ask. If he wants to talk to me about it, he will. 

We both rise to our feet when the guys enter the room, and while one comes to me and pulls me into a hug, the other does the same for Jackson. Okay, something _definitely_ happened he didn’t tell me about. 

“Rick, it’s good to see you again,” says Jackson. 

“Which means you must be Daniel,” I say to the one who still has me wrapped up in his arms. He’s not as tall as Jackson, but he’s built like a professional athlete: thick and broad. I can barely get my arms all the way around him. When he pulls away from me, Rick takes his place, and I see Jackson shake Daniel’s hand and do that chest bump hug guys do. 

“It’s good to see you under less trying circumstances,” Rick says to me. 

“Oh, I don’t know, today’s going to be pretty trying if you ask me. I think I’d rather face down a gunman again than go in front of that horde of reporters. Did you see them out there?” Rick and Daniel laugh as I meant for them too, but Jackson makes this choking sound in his throat. 

When I turn to him, he looks haunted, broken, and I close the gap and pull him to me. He responds with a fierceness that surprises me, and I push all my love and comfort into him. 

“I’m sorry, Jackson. I shouldn’t have joked about it. It’s too soon. I’m sorry.” 

He’s holding me so tight it’s _just_ on this side of painful, and I can hear him whisper, “Never again,” over and over into the top of my head. _Never, ever again._

We stand there longer than we should, but I don’t want to lose the comfort he offers, and apparently neither does he. When we finally separate, the blood rushes to my face as I see the other two watching us. Daniel’s head tips to the side like he’s trying to figure out a particularly interesting puzzle. 

Jackson, in typical Jackson fashion, scrubs his hands over his face and motions for us all to sit at the conference table. Seeing that familiar movement calms me some. Instead of us sitting on separate sides, Jackson pulls two chairs out from the table and faces them towards each other, motioning me to sit. Rick does the same with Daniel so that the four of us are facing without the table between us. 

Jackson is close enough that he reaches out and rubs the back of his fingers over my hand and arm where it is sitting on the armrest. Kind of like a touchstone. I don’t know if it’s meant to soothe him or me, but it’s doing the job either way. 

“So, Dr. Kepner.” 

“April, please. I think we’re well beyond that point.” 

“April then. Army Surgeon, huh? Bent the truth a little, there didn’t you?” 

Instead of sounding upset, he sounds amused, and I feel my face smile in response.

“No. I believe I said I was an Army trained surgeon. That much is one hundred percent accurate. I _was_ trained on the battlefield by the army. Hell, if you were in Baghdad in 2014 or so, we probably saw each other.” 

“No. I think I’d remember if I saw someone who looks like you in the middle of the desert.” 

I feel more than see Jackson stiffen at the comment, and both men must as well because Daniel roughly clears his throat and gives Jackson an apologetic smile. It’s only now I remember Alex and Jackson told these guys that Jackson and I are still married. No wonder they’re all skittish around him. 

“I am Army. Just maybe not as hardcore as I let on. How did you know anyway?” 

They nod their heads towards Jackson, and Rick says, “Your husband told us. Then we looked you up.” I should tell them the truth about Jackson. After all, the lie was told in good faith. Everyone in this room was just trying to protect me. However, for multiple reasons, I find myself reluctant to do so. It would make both Alex and Jackson look dishonorable, and I know from personal experience that military guys don’t like liars. There’s no need to bring Matthew into this if he won’t be my husband much longer, anyway. Jackson turns to look at me, but when he opens his mouth to speak, probably to correct their impression of our marital status, I interrupt him. 

“I wouldn’t believe everything the internet tells you.” 

“Not the internet. Military records. You have quite the reputation, Ma’am.” 

That earns me another look from all three boys. Appreciation from the military men and a questioning one from Jackson. 

Smiling to myself, I ask them, “Did you guys know each other before the shooting?” 

“Yes. We were in the Navy together. We went through SEAL training together and were assigned to the same team. I’ve been out for about three years now and joined the Seattle PD. SWAT. Daniel here is visiting on leave.”

“Extended indefinitely now thanks to that stupid shooting. I get to take part in a military investigation as well as a civilian one.” Daniel looks less than pleased at the prospect. 

“We were at the mall because I have to get a suit for a wedding coming up.” 

“We can take care of that. I have a brilliant suit guy. I’ll give you his number. Way better than anything you can get off of the rack at the mall.” 

I can’t help the eye roll that escapes me. 

“Meet Jackson. Almost billionaire. He’s why I was there as a matter of fact. Our daughter needed soccer shoes, and Mr. _Only the Best_ ”—I jerk my thumb over at Jackson looking wounded next to me—“wanted them from the expensive shoe store in the mall.” 

“Hey! I had no part in that. I never told you where to get the shoes. 

Stop trying to blame this whole mess on me.” 

“Well,” says Rick, “whatever your reason for being there, an entire city owes you their thanks.” 

“No, it’s you guys that deserve all the credit. If you hadn’t had been there, who knows how many more people he would have hurt before they stopped him.” 

“Speaking of which, what were you planning on doing if we hadn’t shown up?” 

Daniel looks at me earnestly, and I take in a deep breath to gather my thoughts. I prepared for questions, wanting a recap of my actions, but not this. 

“I’ve been trying to get an answer to that question myself.” 

Jackson swivels his chair to face me. The glare I shoot him would kill a lesser man. I’ve made interns cry with this look. Jackson, however, is apparently immune. He just glares at me with a face of his own. I can see the anger and fear simmering just underneath his skin. 

“I don’t know guys. Okay? I _really_ don’t know. All I know is that I had to do something. Everybody was running away from him.” 

“As you should have been too,” Jackson interrupts me with passion in his voice. 

“Run into any burning buildings lately, Jackson?” I shoot right back at him. 

The guys look back and forth between us, trying to figure out what sort of fight they’ve stumbled into. They will not make me to be the bad guy here when everyone in this room has done some version of the same damn thing I did! 

Ignoring them all, I power on. 

“I don’t know what I would have done. But someone needed to do something. I _have_ the experience of being in the army. I may not have SEAL training or much more than basic combat training, but I got put through recent instruction about what to do if they captured me or if I came face to face with an insurgent. What’s a gunman other than a domestic terrorist, right? 

“So yes, I followed him. And no, I will _not_ apologize for it. If you guys hadn’t shown up, then I would have kept doing what I was doing— pulling those that I could to safety, or at least out of the direct line of fire, and waited for either a good chance to take him down myself, or for help to arrive, whichever happened first.” 

I’m mad, and I know I shouldn’t be, but I can’t help it. What sort of person walks into a building and opens fire? So yes, dammit, I tried to stop him. If it happened again tomorrow, I’d do it again—and again. Turning to face Jackson, I barrel on. 

“Maybe you would have been happier if I’d run away. Maybe you would still love me. But I wouldn’t. I could _never_ forgive myself if I was too worried about my own wellbeing to take care of those around me. Every time I looked in the mirror, I’d see a coward. I took an oath, Jackson. 

An oath to do no harm. 

"‘ _Into whatsoever houses I enter, I will enter to help the sick, and I will abstain from all intentional wrong-doing and harm, especially from abusing the bodies of_ _man or woman,_ _bond or free. And whatsoever I shall see or hear in the course of my profession, as well as outside my profession in my intercourse with men, if it be what should not be published abroad, I will never divulge, holding such things to be holy secrets._

_“Now if I carry out this oath, and break it not, may I gain for ever reputation among all men for my life and for my art; but if I break it and forswear myself, may the opposite befall me._ ’ 

“That’s the same reason why, when those two took him down, I set his arm before the paramedics arrived. I took an oath.” 

I’m panting, and the excited blood flowing through my veins feels like lightning in my busted arm. It makes me wish I brought those stupid pills with us. 

“Damn,” I hear Rick breathe. I jump in my seat. I forgot they were in here. 

“I know, right? Hot.” 

That makes me laugh out loud, and it breaks the tension of the past few minutes. 

We talk for almost an hour after that, about everything and anything other than what happened at that mall. Sharon, the publicist, will lead the press conference, so all we should have to do is pose for pictures and answer a few questions. I take this opportunity to get to know my new friends a little better. Jackson doesn’t say much after my outburst, but he’s always just right there, fingers rubbing up and down my arm, always within my reach if I need him. 

***

Deluca knocks to announce himself, then enters the room a little after noon. At Jackson’s signal, he comes further into the space, then, after a moment’s hesitation, reaches in to hug me. I wasn’t his teacher like I’d been some others, but we were always friendly, and we’ve gotten to know each other further now that he’s living with Meredith and the gang. The hug is quick and full, conveying both his relief that I’m all right and his thanks, which I have no desire to hear again. 

“Doctors Kepner and Avery, the MRI machine is open and ready for you.” 

_I love the way he addressed us!_

I should always be before Jackson! I can’t wait to rub that in. Paperwork isn’t even signed yet, and they’re already addressing me first. 

“Deluca, first big trauma I get when I’m back on schedule, you get to scrub in! Hell, you can first assist!” 

“Thanks? I guess?” 

Hixson looks confused about what just happened, but Jackson knows what’s made me so happy. His ”Yeah, yeah, yeah” tells it all.

“Jackson, why don’t you give our friends a tour of the hospital. We still have a little time before we have to meet Sharon, and it’ll keep you out of my hair while I do all of this.” 

Jackson smiles at the SEALs, then pulls me to the side by my elbow. 

“But I wanted to see the scans when they come up.” He’s whining and trying not to, and it makes me want to kiss him.

“I know you did. I’ll page you when they’re ready, I promise. But there’s no reason for you to keep watch over me 24/7, Jackson. I’m in the hospital, for God’s sake. What do you think will happen to me while I’m in the machines?” 

_I better find some wood to bang on._

“Fine.” 

He looks so much like Harriet pouting it makes me want to giggle. It’s so hard to keep my voice steady when I answer him.

“Thank you. I have to meet with Alex too, so I’ll page you when I’m done.” 

He’s still staring at me when he barks out his orders.

“Deluca, you don’t let her out of your sight. Page me the minute the scans are up.” 

“Jackson, really!” 

“Not a problem, Dr. Avery.” 

They talk to each other like I’m not even here. The two SEALs are standing and waiting for Jackson to join them, nodding along like his OCD of my whereabouts makes total sense. _Boys._

Out of habit more than anything else, he leans forward to kiss me on the forehead then turns and walks away.

“ _Seriously_ , Jackson, this has got to stop.” 

Ignoring me, he invites the SEALs to precede him out the door, then follows with only a backward glance. 

I think it’s time to establish my dominance. I am the Trauma Goddess, and I’ve been away from this hospital for way too long. Pushing all of my pain and fatigue back into the surgeons’ vault, I stand up straight and bark out Hixson’s name. 

“Deluca!” 

“Um, yes, Ma’am.” 

“What are you supposed to be doing right now?” 

“I’m supposed to go with you.” 

“No. Before Dr. Avery gave you those orders. What were you supposed to do today?” 

“I had a surgery with Dr. Shepard at one.” 

“Good. Go. I don’t need you following me around like some lost puppy dog. Do I look like a lost puppy dog, Deluca?” 

“No Ma’am.” 

“Do I look like a person who can’t take care of herself? Or perhaps someone who would forget where the radiology department is? Do I look weak, fragile, and delusional to you, Deluca?” 

“No Ma’am. But Dr. Avery said—” 

“I’m sure you already know this, but I’m the new Chief of the

Emergency Department. You’re taking a Neuro Fellowship next year at Grey’s, right?” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” 

“Over half of neuro’s surgeries come in through the ED. If you ever want to operate again while I’m on duty, you’ll remember that from now until the end of time, so long as it doesn’t involve patient care, if it comes down to Dr. Avery or me, you always choose me. Understood?” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” 

“So, what are you doing this afternoon?” 

“A craniotomy with Dr. Shepard, Dr. Kepner.” 

“Good. Scram.” 

It takes all of my will power to hold in my laughter at him fleeing until he’s out of the conference room. 

God, it feels good to be back.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here we go guys. Things start to change from the original posting. I present you with a year's worth of work LMAO. Also, I gave April a childhood nickname, term of endearment, based on the middle name I gave her. I know it's not cannon, but I wanted a way to bring them closer without it being physical.

**Chapter Sixteen**

Jackson

I jerk from a dead sleep, adrenaline surging through my system. The night is silent and still, and I have no idea what’s yanked me to consciousness. Whatever it was, it _hurt_. 

As a resident, and then a new parent, I was used to waking at a moment’s notice. You learn to sleep at the edge of awareness. But it’s been a few years since I’ve had to worry about all-nighters, at least regularly. That’s what interns are for. I check my pager and my phone just in case it was a page from the hospital that woke me. At 2:00 a.m.

both are quiet, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

Flinging back the covers, I go check on Harriet since I’m already awake. She doesn’t have a night light in her room, but we leave on the adjacent bathroom light, and it gives just enough glow to avoid stepping on rogue toys as I make my way to her princess bed. I know I should be on her more to keep it cleaned up, but my parents always let me keep my personal space the way I liked it, even if it was a little messy, and I prefer to raise Harriet that way too. 

April is on her enough about picking up after herself in the rest of the house, and her bedroom is spotless compared to the way I used to keep mine as a boy. 

She’s sound asleep, and I can’t help but marvel again at how beautiful she is. I wonder if parents ever grow out of that? Or if I’ll be looking at her thirty years from now, perhaps watching her from the surgery gallery, and admire how graceful she is? 

_She takes after her mother._

I secure the blanket around her and am placing a kiss on her head when I hear it. _A shout?_ Or perhaps a muffled scream. It’s coming from the guest room, and I’m running towards April before my mind registers what’s happened.

I don’t bother to knock and burst into the bedroom. My adrenaline is pumping, and my fingers feel numb with panic. In the five seconds it’s taken me to sprint between the bedrooms, I’ve thought of a dozen different scenarios that caused that sound. 

The room is swathed in darkness, and I stand with my fists balled, willing my eyes to adjust. After seconds that feel like hours, my eyes finally pull into focus. 

There’s nothing here. 

April is alone, sound asleep in bed. As the anxiety bleeds from adrenal system, nausea takes its place. 

April is asleep, but her sleep seems to be anything but peaceful. 

I take a quick glance around the bedroom to assure myself she’s really alone, then make my way to the bed. 

Her face is screwed up into a ball of pain, eyes tight, her lip is between her teeth. If she bites it any harder she’s going to bleed. Her hands are clenched into the sheets, balled so tight it’s pulled the corner from the top. The blankets are pushed, or more likely kicked, until they’re in a pile at the foot of the bed.

Her hair is a wild mess, and I watch as her head flings from side to side. She’s drenched from sweat with her shirt bunched around her middle. 

She makes _that_ sound again, wounded and painful, and her body jerks as if she’s been shot. 

_Oh, Fuck me._ _She’s dreaming about the shooting._

I try to remember what I know about waking people in the middle of nightmares. 

If it was just a regular nightmare, I wouldn’t have any problem. But nightmares brought on from trauma are different. She could sleep right through it and never remember it in the morning, in which case my waking her up would only make the situation worse. 

_Or she could hurt herself jerking around on the bed like that._

That’s reason enough for me. I sit next to her on the edge of the bed. 

“April. April.” 

She moans long and low like a wounded animal, and something breaks inside me to hear it pass through her lips. I climb further on the bed and take her face into my hands, hoping to still her thrashing.

Raising my voice, I rub her cheeks with my fingers.

“April, sweetheart, wake up. You’re having a nightmare.” 

Her flailing just gets stronger. She fights me, smacking at my arms and clawing at my body. 

_Shit shit shit._

I don’t want to hurt her, but she _will_ rip open her arm if she keeps this up much longer. I’ve never seen her like this before, and I can’t stop the tears that leak from my eyes. 

_“APRIL_!” 

I almost scream it that time, desperate to wake her up. Her eyes snap open and she stiffens under my hands, but I can’t tell if she’s actually awake. 

Her eyes are unfocused and dart around the room, seeing everything but taking in nothing. Her chest sucks in oxygen like she’s gasping for air while drowning. I freeze when she freezes, not wanting to trigger her again.

“Ellabeth sweetheart, it’s Jackson. You were having a nightmare. Can you look at me, love?” 

Nobody calls her Ellabeth except for her family. 

_And me, once a long time ago_. 

She gradually turns her head to look at me, and I see when recognition fills her eyes.

“Jackson?” 

Her voice is weak and uncertain, squeaky like a mouse.

She lifts her hands and places them on my arms, and I swipe my face across my shoulder, trying to remove the evidence of my tears.

“Hey, baby girl. You had a bad dream. You’re okay. I’m right here.”

The sweat saturates her sheets so much I can feel the moisture seeping into my pants. When I try to leave the bed, intending to get her another shirt to change into, her grip on me tightens desperately, her nails digging into my flesh. Fear and panic flash across her face. 

“Don’t go,” she gasps out, and it further breaks my already damaged heart.

Without thinking, I lean over her and pull her into my arms and onto my lap. She doesn’t fight me; she wraps her arms around my neck and buries her head into my shoulder. She clings to me like a monkey, and I feel her body shaking. 

I can’t tell if it’s the nightmare and its after effects or the rapidly cooling moisture against her skin. All of the above? 

But when I feel the wetness dripping down my chest, I realize her quaking is because she’s _crying_. Her body shudders with the force of her tears, but she never makes a sound. 

All I can do is hold on and let her know she’s not alone.

And pretend I’m not crying too.

I don’t know how long it’s been when she lifts her head. 

_Minutes?_

_Days?_

Hell, Harriet could be in high school for all I know. I let my hands find her face again, pushing her hair back behind her ears. Her chest shudders with the intensity of the emotions still riding high inside, and I lower my face until my forehead rests against hers. Her fingers sedately graze my neck until she stills under my touch again. 

I’m acutely aware of when she realizes she’s sitting on my lap, and I open my eyes to watch the blush bleed onto her pale skin. Even in the dim lighting she glows like a candle.

Scrambling off my legs, the apologizes come swiftly and in multiples.

“Oh my God, Jackson, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I woke you up. It was just a stupid little nightmare. I’m so sorry. Why did you let me climb all over you like that? I’m so sorry. That is so inappropriate of me. I’m so sorry. Go back to bed. I’m so sorry.”

“Ellabeth. Shut up.” 

She stops rambling so suddenly she chokes on her words. With her face all splotchy, it’s too damn cute for words and I don’t bother to hold in my smile. I stand up and stretch, feeling the blood rush back into my legs. My feet start to tingle, giving me an indication of just _how_ long she sat crying. Her tears cover my chest, and my pants are damp, and cold from her sweat. I’m warm-blooded by nature; if I’m cold, Ellabeth must be freezing.

I reach out my hand and tip my head to the side.

“Come on, you can’t sleep in here.”

“What? Of course, I can.”

“Your bed is soaked, Ellabeth, as are your clothes. Come on, let’s go.”

I see the fight in her body, but I lean down to grab her hands and give her a little tug. Reluctantly she edges towards the side of the bed. Without letting go of her fingers, I pull her to her dresser and grab another sleep shirt to change, then drag her into the hallway. 

Mid step, she freezes with a jerk on my hand. At last, she gives me lip, and I swallow my smile and relief before facing her with a questioning gaze.

“Jackson, let me go. I can just change the sheets in that room. Or I can go to sleep on the couch. But I don’t need coddled. I’m fine now.”

“ _Ellabeth_.” I let my exasperation show. 

“Stop calling me that.”

Honestly, the term of endearment just slipped out. I missed it though.

“Why?”

“Only my family calls me that.”

“Am I not family anymore?” I bring my hand to my chest, giving her a hurt face. “Wait until I tell _Maman_ you’ve disowned us.” I say it with a pout, and it gets the response I was looking for.

“Low, Jackson. Very low.” 

There she is. There’s my Ellabeth. In the few seconds we’ve stood in the dark hallway bickering, she’s stood up taller and thrown her shoulders back. Her eyes flash at me in the dim lighting and her voice goes from scared to feisty. 

“Ellabeth, I promise I won’t take advantage of you. This is for my benefit. I won’t be able to sleep unless I know that you’re okay, and I won’t think you’re okay if you’re on the couch. I’ll sleep there instead. Now come to bed. It’s late.” 

I still haven’t let go of her hand, and now I’m rubbing my pointer finger across her palm. It’s a trick I learned, freshman year of college. She’ll agree to almost anything, _anything_ , if I ask her while we’re touching. I used to ask her to do my homework while rubbing her shoulders, and ten minutes later she’d be at the computer typing. Almost twenty years on and I still don’t think she’s realizes it.

_It’s another one of my superpowers, I guess._

With a sigh of defeat, she follows me the last few feet to the bedroom. She detours into the bathroom, and I strip off my damp sleep pants and replace them with another pair. I head to what will always be her side of the bed and am just pulling down the covers when she comes out of the bathroom.

She hesitates for a minute before she climbs into the bed. And when I say climb, I mean _climb_. I didn’t realize how high this bed was for her.

I make a mental note to bring in a footstool tomorrow.

She looks so small in my bed, the covers pulled up to her lap. I _know_ she’s a tiny woman, but her presence takes up so much space, it’s disconcerting to see her so fragile. 

“Jackson, would you stay with me? I know it’s wrong, but—”

“ _Shhhhh_. Always.” 

For the first time tonight, I realize that she’s Ellabeth and half-naked, and now I’m climbing under the covers with her, but I squash it down as quickly as the thought arises.

I intend to put a blanket between us, but she surprises me by scooting all the way to the middle of the bed.

“You know that’s what Snape says to Dumbledore right?”

“Go to sleep, Ellabeth.”

I pull the top sheet in-between the upper half of our bodies and then press myself up against her, so she can lean against me, but with no skin on skin contact. 

_I can only take so much._

Pushing my arm underneath the blanket, I wrap it around her waist, but again being careful not to place my hand on anything sensitive. I feel safe enough, pressing our lower bodies together with no worry of being, as she would put it, inappropriate. 

Our difference in size comes in handy here, where I can give her the comfort that, let’s face it _,_ we both need, but separate us enough so we can at least pretend that we’re not crossing any boundaries. I’m sure our respective significant others wouldn’t agree with that, but since I have no plan on telling _anybody_ , I don’t think matters. 

It doesn’t take long to feel her body relax and become pliant. Her breathing deepens and evens out, and I know she’s in a deep enough sleep that nightmares shouldn’t be a worry. It takes seconds after I assure myself she’s asleep that I follow her there. 

***

I wake up first, which is unusual for us. April is the early riser in this pairing. The sheet is gone, and she’s up against me with her hair all up in my face. _Damn those curls_. Both my arms are around her, and the one she is laying on is tingling. I think that’s what woke me up? I’d forgotten what a cuddler she was. 

_Okay, that’s not true._

But I didn’t want to think about it when she wasn’t cuddling with me. Her shirt has ridden up, and my hand is curled on her rib cage under her breasts. Feeling her in my arms again turns my morning wood to steel. Maybe titanium, or what are Wolverines claws made of again? _Adamantium_? 

Look at that, I make a comic book reference, and she’s not even awake to appreciate it.

Gently, I ease myself out from behind her. It’s still darkish outside, the sun just now starting to rise. That makes it six or so? When I’m sure that she’ll stay asleep, I grab my work out clothes and head downstairs. 

_I can’t get used to this_. I can’t let myself remember that she fits as if they made her for me. Best to put it out of my mind and work out my frustrations on the weight machine. 

After putting on a pair of sneakers, I leave a note for April on the counter and head out.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

## April

## Blurred Lines – Robin Thicke

I’m alone— _truly_ alone—if you don’t count the car ride to and from work, for the first time in _weeks_. Jackson called to say that they had an emergent burn patient come in so he would be late tonight, and Harriet already had a playdate scheduled with Mer and the kids at their house.

Since who knows when, and _if_ , the opportunity will ever arise again, I decide to take a bath in Jackson’s tub. 

I feel a little naughty, as it isn’t my house, and I didn’t ask first, but it’s Jackson, and I doubt that he’ll care much. Plus, he’s not home, so it doesn’t even matter. It’s been taunting me for weeks, whispering sweet nothings at me from across the hallway.

 _April, you know you want to use me._

Damn right I do!

I find some bubble bath under the sink along with some Epsom salt. At first, it makes me think Maggie must take advantage of this fantastic bathtub on a reasonably regular basis, at least until I took over the apartment. But upon closer inspection, I see the label reads they gear it towards muscles and sports recuperation. Which means Jackson must use it after his workouts then. 

When the water is halfway full, I ease myself in. It’s hotter than I expected, and while it feels _so_ good, I have to inch myself into it a body part at a time. There’s a panel to control the jets.

_Jets!_

Just like a real hot tub would have. The opulence in this stupid room is ridiculous. I turn them on, and they do something ridiculous to the bubbles. When I’m sunk into my neck, I can barely see over the level of soapsuds in the tub with me. 

It’s quiet. _Too quiet_. I wish I would have turned music on my phone. I can’t handle the TV outside of Disney channel since the shooting, but I don’t like silence much anymore either. It gives my mind too much time to wander.

_Do I get up and find some piano music, or let the heat still my running thoughts?_

A noise carries into the bathroom, echoing into the stillness of the granite.

Instantly, all of my senses are on full alert. 

I pull my feet underneath me and position myself so I can jump up and out. My body is wet, which will make it harder for me to react with precision, but hopefully the fact that I’m naked and dripping will work to my advantage. Make them hesitate so that I can attack first. My adrenaline skyrockets, and a sense of dread bleeds into my awareness. 

_Is this it?_ Has the Grim Reaper finally caught me?

The door opens as I rise from the tub, and I make eye contact with Jackson in the mirror’s reflection. 

My knees go slack, and I slink back into the bathtub, not unlike a wet dishrag. All the air leaves my body in a painful whoosh as I settle back into the tub.

“Jackson, you _bastard_! You scared me!” 

Luckily the trembling in my voice can easily be mistaken for playfulness.

“ _I_ scared _you_? You’re in my tub! Imagine my surprise when I come home expecting you to be halfway through cooking me dinner and instead find you lounging in bubbles. Or _not_ lounging.” 

The way he’s looking at me makes me flush, but I can blame that on the temperature of the water.

My pulse is still slowing down from the race it just ran, and the look on his face makes it flutter as all the adrenaline washes from my system. I take a minute to get my wits about me.

“Cooking _your_ dinner?” 

I fill my voice with disbelief he would have the audacity to say that to me, and all I get in response is that shit-eating grin. I mean, I _do_ cook dinner every night, but not for him. It’s for our child. 

_That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it._

“Get out Jackson!” 

I try to sound firm, like I’m scolding a puppy. But my puppy wags his tail at me and tries to woo me with his cuteness.

“What’s the big deal, April? I can barely see you with all those bubbles in there. You look like a drowned lion.”

Much to my chagrin, he comes deeper into the bathroom and plops himself down on the ottoman between the sinks. I have a perfect view of him from here, legs spread, and arms stretched out on either side of him across the back of the couch. 

_A king, master of his kingdom._

“I thought you would be at the hospital all night with a patient?”

His face falls, and I know what’s happened before he says anything.

“It was too extensive. The patient died. For the best, I suppose. It would have been one hell of a painful recovery, and they wouldn’t have led a meaningful life afterward.”

“I’m sorry.” 

Patients dying is a part of life, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

He gives me a little half-smile, and to give him a moment, I slip under the water to push my hair back. I’m sure I do look like a wild animal with the heat and humidity making my curls go from cute to crazy. 

When I rise, I put myself up just a smidgen higher. Not so high that anything important is showing, but tall enough that I don’t feel like I’m hiding from him. I don’t enjoy sparring with Jackson from a position of weakness. Exposed and uninvited in his tub definitely has me at a disadvantage. 

He’s feisty tonight. If I’m going toe to toe with the big man, I need all my wits about me.

He’s staring at me when I rise from the water, and it makes me feel all twisty inside. _What he’s even doing here?_

_Guess I should just ask._

“Why are you here, Jackson?”

“You mean in _my_ bathroom?” 

That stupid grin is back, the one that always lets him get his way.

“You think you’re so cute, don’t you? Well, let me be the one to break it to you buddy, you’re not. At all. Rather obnoxious to be honest about it.” 

It would be more believable if I weren’t smiling when I said it.

“Why don’t you go see Maggie or something? She’s gotta be pissed that you’ve been ignoring her so much the last few weeks.” He shrugs, like it doesn’t even matter.

“Maggie is fine. She knows I have to be here with you.”

“What am I, twelve? I can take care of myself. Go out! Have fun!”

He’s still staring at me, and I have to fight the urge not to squirm under his gaze. Any sign of weakness and he’ll pounce. 

“You know what, that’s a great idea. We haven’t done anything fun without the kids in ages.”

I gape at him like a fish as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and puts it to his ear.

“Alex! We’re going out. Gather the girls. Yes, my man, last blow-out before the baby’s born. Tell Mer to ask the sitter to come over, April and I will pay half. As a matter, a fact, see if she’s good with spending the night. We’ll drop Harriet off and leave from there. We’ll need time to recover in the morning.”

I’m too far away to hear Alex’s side of the conversation, but suddenly, Jackson’s face lights up, and he throws his head back with laughter. He’s seven when he smiles like that, so open and free.

“No, no. Just us originals tonight. But don’t tell anyone I said that, she’d cut my balls off if she heard it.”

Silence again on Jackson’s side, and I make the mistake of looking him in the eyes. My nether regions clench in response to the intimacy in his gaze.

“Outstanding. I’ll tell Ellabeth. Yeah, she needs it too. It’ll be good for us all. Bar or—? _Excellent_! Even better. We’ll see you at Jack’s at nine.”

 _Ellabeth_? I wonder if he realizes he’s started calling me that again?

He stretches out from the couch, crossing his legs at the ankles. 

_Shitballs._

“It’s settled. Finish your bath, then go get glammed up. We’re going out for dinner and dancing.”

***

When I leave Jackson’s bathroom, I expect to be alone. Instead, I find him stretched out on his bed, shirtless, with his hands linked behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles. 

_Shitballs._

I stop dead in my tracks, because, _God Damn_ , does he look good! 

_Edible_. 

Before he can call me on my obvious ogling, I high tail it out of his room and back into my own. By the time I get downstairs, he’s lounging against the kitchen counter.

He’s got on designer jeans. One’s that do things to his legs that should be illegal. His buttoned up dress shirt is untucked at the waist. He looks like he just stepped out of a Calvin Klein catalog. He’s even trimmed his beard.

He’s gone from _just_ this side of scruffy, to an urban black man on the prowl.

On his feet are, of course, his trusted Jordans.

It’s disgusting that he looks as good in his clothes as he does out of them.

It’s going to be a long night.


	18. Date/Not Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The OG gang goes out on the town.

**Chapter Eighteen**

## April

## Do I Wanna Know – Arctic Monkeys

Jackson was right—and isn’t that annoying as hell—but I needed this. The stress from the shooting and the divorce has been eating at me. We _all_ needed it. 

I glam up, just like he told me to, and it’s a good thing too. The rest of our girls look _amazing_. We’re a top-line mixture of skintight jeans and teeny tiny skirts with too much cleavage showing—and it feels _fabulous_.

We keep the drinking light at a beer each during dinner, all except for poor Jo, who volunteered to play designated driver. In reality, it’ll just be for her own husband, as the rest of us all took an Uber to the restaurant and will do the same to get home.

Jack’s is this brilliant spot in downtown Seattle that looks like a hole in the wall from the outside but is cavernous on the inside. They dedicate the front to the dinner crowd while the back opens up to a bar and dance hall. Three nights a week they have a live band that’s half karaoke and half wedding troupe. They can play anything, and you can always sing along.

I’ve lost track of what time it is, but the alcohol has been flowing since we hit the dance floor. We’ve been here long enough that all of our careful styling has gone out the window and been replaced with ponytails and sweat streaked makeup.

_I feel fantastic!_

The boys have shed layers, too, and that’s both an absolute shame and a blessing from God. 

Now, Jackson and Alex both have their shirts opened to show strong shoulders and muscle shirts with sweat dripping down their bodies. 

With Alex’s power and slicked back undercut and the pheromones simply _oozing_ out of Jackson, the boys are in outrageous demand tonight with the ladies. 

Like the gentlemen they are though, they haven’t left our sides for a minute. After an hour or so, women stopped coming over to ask them to dance and simply enjoyed the view from afar.

And what a view it is. 

_Wanna know another secret?_

Jackson doesn’t advertise it, but they forced him to take dance lessons at the prep schools he went to. When he was in high school, they even threw in some modern dance and hip hop, and not just the waltz. Those skills always peek out whenever we get him on a dance floor—as far and between as those times are. 

The results are _magnificent_ to watch.

Jo taps out first, and who can blame her? I’m impressed as hell she came with us nine months pregnant. She even wore heels, bless her heart, but didn’t last long in them. Like all modern women, she had a pair of flats stuffed into her bag to change into. Amelia, Meredith, and I did the same not long after her.

Alex stays out on the dance floor with Amelia and Meredith, but you can tell his heart isn’t in it anymore. He leaves to join Jo about a half-hour later. Next goes Meredith, and where Mer goes, Amelia goes soon after.

_“And then there were two.”_

I jump at how close he sounds and turn around to see Jackson has scooted up next to me. We should leave. It’s late, and the others are ready to go. But—I can’t leave the dance floor quite yet. Just like that bath earlier in the day, who knows when I’m going to get the chance to do this again?

The band signs off, the DJ takes over, and Jackson and I move to the music. There’s no need to talk. In this, like in most things in life, Jackson and I are a team. 

I watch as the gang waves us down, then signals they’re off for the night. After a hug and a shot of who knows what, I power back to the dance floor.

Akon’s “Dangerous” comes on, and I see Jackson smile his _wicked_ smile. I’m disgusting and achy, but seeing Jackson having so much fun brings on my end wind. 

He _never_ lets loose like this. All surgeon, all the time. That’s my Jackson.

Jackson turns me so we press my back up against his front and puts his hands on my hips, using their size to move me how he wants me. When I feel his hips rotating against my backside, I pivot in his hands again so I’m facing him. 

_Too much, it’s too much._

Nelly’s “Promiscuous” comes on next, and I zone out to the vibe they have pumping through this building. We’ve got to be close to closing time, but instead of slowing down, the crowd is only growing thicker. Jackson and I get slower and closer until his leg stops between mine and his arm is around my waist. My eyes are closed, and I’m just swaying in time with the music, lightly grinding myself against him.

It could be anyone. It’s not because it’s _him_.

The next song I don’t recognize, but it has a heavy beat and a deep guitar. Different from what’s been playing the last few songs. 

I make the mistake of paying attention to the lyrics, and they act as fuel to the fire that’s burning in my core.

_Have you no idea that you’re in deep_

_I dreamt about you nearly every night this week_

_How many secrets can you keep_

_Do I wanna know,_

_If this feeling flows both ways_

_Sad to see you go_

_Was sorta hoping that you’d stay_

_Baby we both know_

_That the night was mainly made for saying things that you can’t say tomorrow day_

My body breaks out in goosebumps as I look at Jackson, listening to the lyrics of the song. He’s staring back at me with that intensely intimate look he has, and I feel my defenses crack another layer. Without conscious thought, our rhythm changes again. We’re turning in circles, pressed up against each other. _Was this song made for us?_ Were we supposed to hear these lyrics tonight?

_So have you got the guts?_

_Been wondering if your heart’s still open and if so I wanna know what time it shuts Simmer down and pucker up_

_I’m sorry to interrupt it’s just I’m constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you I don’t know if you feel the same as I do But we could be together if you wanted to_

Jackson jerks me to him, and I lean back into his arms, supporting my back, dipping into the groove of the song. Now our grinding, still tightly contained in the small circle that we’re standing in, becomes less happenstance and is instead done with purpose.

_Do I wanna know,_

_If this feeling flows both ways_

_Sad to see you go_

_Was sorta hoping that you’d stay_

_Baby we both know_

_That the night was mainly made for saying things that you can’t say tomorrow day_

I can’t say it at night either, but I can close my eyes and pretend that being here with him like this isn’t ten kinds of wrong.

Is that why things would never work out with Matthew? Because I already belong to Jackson? The song’s lyrics mention trying not to kiss you, and I suck my bottom lip between my teeth, stopping myself from planting kisses all over his chest and face. I hear what sounds like a moan from Jackson but can’t risk opening my eyes to look at him. 

At the end of the song, the DJ comes over the speaker to announce the last call for alcohol, and the spell of the song is at last broken between us.

_Shitballs._

I am in _so_ deep.


	19. Take me to church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here ClementimeWhy lol. Just for you.

**Chapter Nineteen**

## April Stronger – Kelly Clarkson

The ED is my sanctuary. It has been since I was a resident. In the time I’ve been away, I’ve found other places to take refuge, places to center myself. But nothing measured up to the Emergency Room. Something about the chaos offers me peace, if that even makes sense. The closest I’ve gotten somewhere else was a battlefield hospital.

Sometimes it feels like it’s been months since the shooting, and other times I get a whiff of some smell or hear a strange sound, and I’m right back in that day. Panting and praying for it to be over.

In the real world, it’s been almost four weeks, and I’m supposed to start again at the hospital full-time in a week and a half. I came in today to take some paperwork off of Dr. Markel’s hands. 

And because I need a distraction.

My life has _finally_ gotten back to some semblance of normal. The press calls have all but stopped, and we can come and go from the apartment without people trying to take our pictures. The police presence has lessened at the hospital too, thank goodness _._ My friends at Grey Sloan say it was driving them nuts. 

I apologized several times for the inconvenience the last few weeks caused everyone, but by the third _Shut it Kepner_ , I realized that they just want to complain about something, not that they’re honestly irritated about it. 

Actually, besides the fact I got hurt, I think they’re kinda happy with all the positive press Grey Sloan has been getting.

Jackson and I have a great routine going with Harriet at his place, but the more comfortable I feel in his apartment, the more I know that I need to get a move on finding my own place to live. We’re crossing boundaries that can’t be crossed. 

For my own sanity.

I’ve had a burning in my gut since we had our night out with the guys.

Dancing and flirting with him was…I don’t know what it was. 

_Hot._

_Toe-curling sexy._

_Panty dropping passionate_ , and we didn’t even _do_ anything. 

My sex life with Matthew? It was okay, but it never came close to comparing with what I had with Jackson. I was always okay with that, or so I thought. Sex with Matthew was what you’d expect it to be. It was like his personality, calm and easy-going. Nothing unexpected. Flat. 

Sex with Jackson was intense and enthusiastic. It didn’t matter if it was a quickie in the on-call room or an all-night marathon in our home. He rocked my world every time. 

Matthew couldn’t have sex if we’d been fighting, or if we were angry. Jackson and I seemed to have some of our best when our blood was already hot before we stripped each other. Jackson took pride in pushing me to my boundaries, and I took pride in showing him how far I could be pushed. I had no complaints about sex with Jackson, except for when we weren’t having it. 

But sex with Matthew was few and far between those last few months. When we did have sex it was less than satisfactory. Jackson’s very presence has been setting me afire these past few weeks. Every day I’m reminded why I couldn’t live with him before. 

I want him, plain and simple. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I probably always will. I may be divorced, or close enough to it, but Jackson is happy with Maggie, and I will not get between that. I’ve been dragging my feet looking for an alternative place to live, but that’s got to stop. I’ve been taking advantage of Jackson’s hospitality. It’s messing with my head.

It’s just, God it’s been so _great_ being with Jackson though. I mean, this is why he’s my best friend. He just gets me, as nobody had before and nobody has since, and it’s been nice to be around that again. Being able to be me without the worry of criticism or needing to guard myself has been so freeing. I can bring Harry Potter or Spider-Man into a regular conversation and he just keeps on talking instead of looking at me like I’m a super freak. 

I didn’t realize how tight I’d reined myself in until I didn’t have to do it anymore. I didn’t know how tense and sad I’d become with Matthew, until he wasn’t here.

I thought doing the paperwork for next month’s schedule would occupy my mind enough to take it off of Matthew and Jackson, but I fell into the administrator position with ease, and my mind is wandering again.

Being with Matthew was great, at first. But once the high wore off, it became apparent that he wasn’t over his wife. Of course he wasn’t. He’ll love her until the end of time, and I was okay with that. She’s gone, and I was here. I know, better than most, what first love can do to a person. 

But what I wasn’t okay with was that he wasn’t over Jackson and me either, and that wouldn’t fly. I feel like a failure admitting it, but once I was over the shock of him leaving me, I was glad for it. It just meant that I wouldn’t have to do it myself. 

Ruby is another subject altogether. If he thinks I’ll roll over and play dead, he has another thing coming. I may not have given birth to her, but I’ve raised her as my own since she came into my life. I _am_ her mother, or the only one she has. If he thinks he can just keep her from me without a fight, he never really knew me at all. 

I felt uncomfortable at first talking to Jackson about it. He’s had very little to do with Ruby and Matthew over the years, but he’s been wonderful about the entire thing. Lets me rant, tells me what an asshole Matthew is without being aggressive with it, and even offered to help me interview potential new lawyers if I felt like I needed it. 

The Avery name can pull strings pretty much anywhere. He mentioned it in passing while setting up Harriet’s room so it was suitable to share with Ruby, when I thought I’d talked Matthew into letting her come see me, but nothing happened with that, and the subject was dropped for now.

Thinking about Matthew pisses me off and thinking about Jackson just twists me up inside. I need to shut my brain off.

Checking my watch, I have almost two hours before I have to pick Harriet up from school. I stand to stretch, letting my mind turn towards running the emergency department.

Wandering out of my office, I decide to check supplies for restocking. It’s never too early to get the orderlies and nurses on my side. 

But then I spot Dr. Link and his resident in a trauma room and make a detour in there instead. I can suck up to the nurses tomorrow. Right now, exposed bones are calling my name. The perfect distraction from my own brain.

Pulling my hair into a tail and plucking a pair of gloves from the box, I introduce myself to the patient and ask Link what we have going on.

“Bella Stone, twelve, fell out of a tree, allegedly.” He sends the patient a wink.

The girl, while still in pain, flushes guiltily and gives a slight smile. 

“Obvious compound fracture to the left tibia, with a hip dislocation as well. We’ve given 4mg of morphine for pain, run trauma labs, ordered films and are just getting ready to stabilize her pelvis before we head upstairs.”

He’s talking to me like I’m his equal, instead of a housewife who has been out of the game for a while, and it ups my respect level for him, too. I’ll enjoy working with him, I can tell already. Alex walks in while we’re talking, but just stands in the back of the room with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Are you going to reduce the hip while she’s under?”

“Yes. There’s no need to put her through that pain when she will shortly be under anesthesia, anyway. We’ll just do it all at the same time.” He takes an exaggerated glance at my jeans and Black Widow t-shirt, then offers, “Do you want to scrub in? This should be a fun one.”

I really, really do, but I have to pick Harriet up from school. Checking my watch one more time, I excuse myself and reach for my cell phone. 

**_April:_** **_Can you take Harriet tonight, pick her up from school? I’m so sorry for the brief notice, but something came up at the hospital._**

**_Martha: Certainly. I haven’t seen Harriet enough lately. Don’t worry about us. We’ll see you both tonight._ **

_Yes!_

Man, I love that woman. Jackson and I pay her well to be at our beck and call. The benefits and pitfalls of being surgeon parents. To think I once wanted a specialty where I could stay home with the kids? I was crazy.

“Yes, I would love to scrub in.”

“This is a peds case. Mind if I scrub in too?” 

Alex speaks up from the back, and Link introduces him to the patient’s parents. They’re thrilled to have the head of the surgical department operating on their child.

The orderlies push her out of the room with the parents following, and I fall into step with Link and Alex. The girl is trying to explain to her parents, while under narcotics, why she was in the tree to begin with, and the excuses are so backward and hilarious I can’t help but laugh.

This is what I needed. 

You can have all the boy trouble in the world, but in the ED, you are _free_. We’re almost to the bank of elevators when my text alert goes off. I pull the phone out, expecting it to be Martha, and am surprised when I see I’ve got a text from Jackson.

**_Jackson: What are you doing in the hospital?_ **

I whip my head up to look around the ER but don’t see him anywhere. He must be down here somewhere. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming in today, and then went straight to my office when I got here. The only person I’ve even spoken to is Link. My irritation mixing with my mirth, I hurry to get a text off before we enter the elevators.

**_April: What are you doing? Stalking me? Where are you? I don’t see you. I needed a distraction._ **

**_Jackson: I’m on my way to surgery. The bowel obstruction we talked about last night._ **

I’m surprised to get a text inside the elevator, but then again, I shouldn’t be. I heard all about what happened when Meredith and Deluca got stuck in an elevator a few years back. Multiple times, from multiple sources. I remember that they had someone out to ensure the elevators got cell service inside of them. I fire off the last text to Jackson, then put my phone back in my pocket, smiling at Link as I do so.

**_April: I’m heading in with Link and Alex. Martha has Harriet tonight, tty after._ **

Smiling at Link against the elevator wall makes me think back to what Meredith said about being stuck in the elevator with Deluca. If everything that happened inside of it is true, I’m impressed with her ability to deny herself for so long. Her current sleeping arrangements prove that she caved soon after. Like later that night, if I recall. If someone were to pin me up against these elevator walls, I wouldn’t tell them no. 

_Wait, a minute_.

I have been.  
If memory serves me, I was purring into his hands by the time he finished with me.

Shaking myself out of my very inappropriate thoughts, I walk with Link out of the elevator, laughing at something he’s said about working with interns. Alex strides out after us and heads right to the OR. Probably to check on the other operating suites while he’s waiting for us. 

I _feel_ Jackson standing somewhere off to the side. I haven’t turned my head to see him, but I know he’s here. My heart quickens, and my palms get sweaty with the knowledge he’s close. 

That’s it. 

I have to move out this weekend. 

I think it’s gotten worse over the years, this phenomenon between us. I always knew when he entered a room—long before we became

intimate. It got more intense after that. Now, it’s almost like I get hit with a shot of static electricity.

Telling Link and Alex I’ll see them in the OR, I look at Jackson. To say he seems put out is an understatement, and his pouty face is adorable. Of course, telling him that would be a cosmic mistake. It is the height of undignified for a Fox-Avery to pout, and so to prove that he is above all that, he’d storm off and pout in private. He pushes off from the nurses’ desk and meets me in the middle of the hallway. I keep walking in the direction to go get scrubs, and he falls into pace next to me.

“Don’t you have surgery to be in?” I ask him. It’s easier to pick on him here, where I’m not meeting his eyes, and I know nothing can come from it.

“What are you even doing here? You don’t start work for another couple of weeks still. I _know_ people you know; I could make you go home.” 

I know he’s joking, but I’m still a little sore from Matthew throwing such a fit about me coming back to the hospital, so my reply may be sharper than I was planning on it being. 

“If you must know, I had a busy morning. I looked at two rentals, went to the store, scrubbed the apartment, and then came in to do some paperwork before I start. You know I like to hit the ground running. 

“Anyway, Jackson Fox-Avery, if you even think about trying to send me home, I’ll tell your mother on you.”

I can see him glancing around to see if anybody overheard my use of his full name. Peeking at him through my lashes, he looks a lot like what I’d expect a kicked puppy to look like. Properly scolded, but just itching for you to leave the room so he can get into trouble again.

“Harsh, Ellabeth. I never bring your mother into it when we fight.” 

We’re at the supply closet, and I put my hand out to hold him outside while I grab a pair of scrubs. The last thing I need is for people to see us coming out of a supply closet together. 

He’s standing where I left him mere seconds ago, still with that adorable pout on his face. I march to the women’s restroom, with my puppy still trailing. Pointing my finger at him, I give him my sassiest attitude when I reply.

“If you did, I’d tell your mother that too. I have to get my scrubs on. We have a compound fracture of a tibia and a dislocated hip. Three, maybe four hours. Chicken Parm for dinner?”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you at home then.”

 _Home_.

I’m halfway on my tiptoes with my hand on his chest before I realize what we’re doing. His face is inches from mine when the realization blooms on his face too. 

We’re leaning in to kiss like lovers do when they part. 

_Shitballs._

With an embarrassing squeak, I turn and flee into the restroom.


	20. Take me to church part 2

**Chapter Twenty**

## Jackson

## When I Was Your Man – Bruno Mars

Meredith and I are on our way up to the OR floor. Since our specialties rarely cross paths, we don’t get to work together often. But our patient today is a bikini model with a blockage in her small intestine that Meredith is fixing. The patient refused the surgery unless she had a plastic surgeon on the team to go in and ‘ _make her pretty afterward._ ’ Direct quote. 

Meredith just rolled her eyes at that, but it never hurts to keep your skills fresh in other specialties. You never know when you might need those skills in an emergency. So instead of just coming in to close, I’ll assist the entire surgery.

Just as the doors are closing, I see a flash of red hair and a laugh that’s distinctly Ellabeth, and lunge to stop the doors, but I don’t reach them in time. Scowling, I take my phone out of my pocket and shoot Ellabeth a quick text. 

**_Jackson: What are you doing in the hospital?_ **

I see the little dots of her reply and then read—

I can picture her looking around, trying to see where I’m spying on her from.

**_Jackson: I’m on my way to surgery. The bowel obstruction we talked about last night._ **

**_April: I’m heading in with Link and Alex. Martha has Harriet tonight, tty after_ **

Link? 

What the hell is she doing with Link? 

_Again_? 

I slam down the flare of jealousy that rips through me fast and hot and follow Meredith over to the nurse’s station.

“What put that scowl on your face all of a sudden? You’ve been smiley all day long.” 

“I have not been all smiley,” I grouch out, resting my forearms on the counter of the nurse’s station.

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you have. Almost inappropriately smiley.” 

She’s grinning at me like she knows something that I don’t. When I hear April’s voice, I turn around, and there she is, still laughing and smiling, trailing behind a young woman on a gurney and chatting animatedly with Link.

“Now it all makes sense,” says Meredith from behind me. “I’ll see you in the OR.” I don’t even bother to acknowledge her.

April finally notices me staring at her, yes with a grumpy look on my face. She tells Link that she’ll meet him in the OR and heads in my direction.

“Don’t you have surgery to be in?” 

She walks right past me, and since I don’t have any choice if I want to keep talking to her, I fall in step beside her. 

“What are you even doing here? You don’t start work until next week. I know people you know, I could make you go home.” 

I’m kidding, and she knows it, but she fights back just like I knew she would. She has fire in her eyes and a smile and her face, and she’s intoxicating in her loveliness. She still won’t look at me, but I’m so much bigger than her I can get the full Ellabeth experience staring down at her from above.

“If you must know, I had a somewhat busy morning.” 

I watch her as she details her day so far. This is what I’ve missed, and what I’ll miss when she leaves me again. I love her little play by play of her day. I glance around to see if anybody heard her refer to me as Fox-Avery. She did it on purpose.

The rest of her babble clicks in my head.

She looked at rentals?

Why didn’t she tell me she was doing that? And why is she cleaning the apartment? She knows I have a cleaning lady. Though come to think of it, I haven’t seen her since April moved in. Just like her to tell the cleaning lady to scram but still make me pay for it.

She’s exasperating, and I love it.

“Harsh, Ellabeth. I never bring your mother into it when we fight.” 

We stop in front of a supply closet, and since she told Link she needed to get scrubs, I guess that makes perfect sense. I haven’t been paying attention to our surroundings. I push open the door with my arm over her head, but she juts her hand out to stop me from following her in. The frown on my face deepens, but I can’t help it. 

She’s only gone a few seconds before she’s out the door with a set of blue scrubs in her hands and is moving down the hallway again. 

She stops in front of the woman’s bathroom and faces me head-on for the first time since she handed me my coffee this morning. She pokes me hard in the chest with her finger, picking up our bickering from where we left off.

“If you did, I’d tell your mother that too. I have to get my scrubs on. We have a compound fracture of a tibia and a dislocated hip. Three, maybe four hours. Chicken Parm for dinner?”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you at home then.”

I push a stray lock of her hair behind her ear then bend down to place a kiss on her lips. But the look of panic and fear on her face freezes me in my tracks. She’s on her tiptoes, her hand already on my chest, but we shouldn’t be doing this. 

Especially in the middle of the hospital. She lets out a sound that sounds suspiciously like a dog toy, then hauls ass into the bathroom. 

_Shitballs._

I’m even picking up her swear words.

Looking around to see if there was anyone who witnessed our indiscretion, I pick up my pace and hurry into surgery. By the time I get through scrubbing, the patient is already under, and Meredith is getting ready to make the first cut. Her eyes glaring in between her scrub cap and face mask are flat and annoyed, and I give her a shrug in apology. 

_What can I say?_

“Let’s do this. Lap Pads.”

We’re an hour into surgery before she talks about anything other than the operation and the patient.

“I know you thought we were picking on you when I said you’d been all smiles today, but I wasn’t. It isn’t just today, but most days lately. I have the oddest feeling we can lay the blame at the feet of a certain previous chief resident.”

I try to look confused, like I have no idea what she’s talking about. But I know I’m failing. Because of course I do. When it becomes apparent that I’m not going to say anything she continues on.

“You guys, you remind me a lot of Derek and me. We had a hard time getting it together too. For years we’d get together only to break up again. We saw other people, slept with other people, hell, one of us was even married to another person. But eventually, in the end, we worked it out. If you count the post it, which I do,” that part is said with force behind it. “we even got married to each other twice. 

“I thought we were going to get divorced too, when we thought we were going to lose Zola. And wouldn’t that be a bitch when we’d only gotten it done legally so that we could bring her home with us. “

“I don’t know what you’re getting at Mer.” This is the only downside to chatting in the OR. There’s nowhere to run and hide. 

“Even though I’m with Deluca now, and I love him very much, Derek will always be the love of my life. If Derek were to show up tomorrow, it would kill me to do it, but I’d go back to him. I don’t think the boys would be willing to share. Well, Andrew loves me enough that he just might be willing to do it, but Derek is probably rolling over in his grave to hear me even talking about it.” I can see the amusement on her face, and the light pain in her voice talking about her lost love, and I give her a smile back in return.

“But April didn’t die, Mer. You said it yourself. And I love Maggie.” I do. I love Maggie. But April is—April is my Ellabeth.

“I know.” She says simply, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. And maybe to her, it is.

“But you said it Jackson. April didn’t die. And _if_ something were to remind you that while you love Maggie, April is the love of your life, we’d all understand. I’m not saying that I wouldn’t hate you for a little while. Maggie is my sister after all. My first loyalty needs to be to her. 

“And Amelia? 

“You may want to consider taking the family and visiting Cristina in Switzerland for a few weeks if you break Maggie’s heart. But you guys were my family way before they were. And we’d all understand, eventually.”

I look around at the other people in the room with us, and like all the best techs and nurses do, they give back bland faces that say we heard nothing. Bokhee gives me a wink, then hands me a needle with the right type of sutures on it before I can even ask for them.

Mer goes back to chatting about how vain the patient is for wasting my time, and I know the momentary lecture/pep talk is over.

I guess it’s time to talk to Maggie.


	21. Nightmares

**Chapter Twenty-One**

April

_I’m hugging the wall, trying to hide behind the signs that litter the open areas in front of the doors. The crowd of people screaming and running by me has at last died down. Half of the metal cage doors meant to protect the stores in the mall from theft at night are now dropping into place, hoping to shield the employee’s from a gunman. All that’s left are the wounded, unable to move on their own, or too afraid to do so._

_And the gunman himself, of course._

_My hearing keeps going fuzzy, and I’m having to stop every few footsteps and shake my head. There’s a young woman in the middle of the floor on her hands and knees crawling, blood trailing behind her. I check the location of the shooter one last time and run into the center. I drop to a squat next to her, and wedging my shoulder under hers, haul her to her feet and to the closest open doorway. Her ankle is broken, and there’s a large gash on her calf, but I don’t see any bullet wounds. She must have hurt herself in the chaos after the firing started. I wedge her into a corner and show her how to put pressure on the wound, then go back into the middle._

_Next is a middle-aged man with a bullet in the shoulder. A screaming kid is hiding behind a cart with their unconscious mother. My hands are covered in blood, and every few seconds, I wipe them on my clothes._

_It doesn’t help._

_Two grown men meet me on the side of the wall and tell me to run, but I tell them to go fuck themselves, and run back to grab the teenager skipping school, bleeding from a head wound._

_They pass me on the way up the corridor, splitting and edging closer to the mad man enjoying himself with the semi-automatic weapons. I dart in again and haul a man twice my size to the edge of the wall, yanking off his belt and wrapping it around his thigh. He cries out in pain at the pressure it puts on the wound, but I apologize and tell him its either this, or death. At his scared expression, I give him the best smile I can and ask him to be still and quiet, promising I’ll be back._

_The maniac drops his guns, and the two civilians make a go for him. There’s a man in the middle, maybe mid-thirties, and the puddle of blood underneath him is spreading even as I watch. I’m too close to the gunman now, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting his guy bleed out alone. When the civilians make their play, I do too and drop to my knees beside the patient. It’s a shot to the gut, and there’s zero possibility he’ll survive. I stand to grab him under the elbows and jerk as pain shoots out from my side._

_Letting out a gasp, I look down and see blood blossom from my upper arm. Flexing my fingers, I know they still work, so I bend again and grasp the man under the shoulders, hauling him towards the open doorway. There are cries and yelling coming from the middle, but I have no attention for anything except the patient in front of me. His eyes are losing focus, and the tears on his cheeks have slowed to a trickle. As the blood flows from his veins, panic is replaced with calm and resignation. He knows what’s happening as well as I do. I grab his hands in mine, hold on as fiercely as I can, and watch as the life leaves his body._

I jerk awake with a gasp, as nausea roils through my body. 

The clock reads 2:30 a.m. 

The tears slide down my face as I sprint for the toilet, praying I make it in time.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty Two**

## April

## Heathens – Twenty One Pilots

I’ve kept in contact with Rick and Daniel in the weeks since the shooting, with the understanding that we’re allowed to talk about anything _other_ than the shooting. I’ve only texted with Rick once or twice, requesting updates about how the investigation is going. 

It amazes me how much work has to go into an investigation when they caught the guy red-handed, but I guess that’s why I didn’t go into law enforcement. 

Daniel, though, I’ve texted with almost every day since the day we met. Mainly, he reaches out to say hi and make sure I’m okay. 

Yesterday he asked if we could meet for coffee. 

I’m about done with the paperwork and training to transfer my duties to my replacement for the clinics and health department, so it’s an excellent time to get together before I start back at the hospital next week. 

Daniel is already sitting at a table when I get here. He’s got a paperback in his hand and a coffee at his elbow. It’s nice to see someone using paper instead of digital technology to get their entertainment, but then I guess being a SEAL as he is, he’s used to not having a smartphone at his fingertips at all times of the day and night. A paperback isn’t at risk for being tracked. _I think._

He raises his head when I enter the building, and he gives me a smile and a wave of his book. When I point to the counter to indicate I’m going to get some coffee, he bobs his book again and brings it back to his face. “Venti Caramel Macchiato upside down with an extra shot, please.” 

I’m usually a black coffee girl with plain old cream and sugar, but I like to splurge when I get the chance to go into an actual coffee house. I throw in a piece of blueberry scone and a bit of banana bread to share with Daniel, then move to wait for my order. 

It’s weird to see Daniel without his trusty sidekick. The few times I’ve met them, they’ve been together. I’ve started thinking of them as a set.

I wonder again why he wanted to meet today.

Drink and snacks in hand, Daniel rises from his seat as I approach the table. He gives me a tight hug, then takes the carbs from me and places them on the table. I settle myself in the seat across from him, nerves twitching away.

“Thanks for meeting me today.” 

His smile lights up his face, bringing a twinkle to his eyes. I smile back, admiring the view. He really is a nice looking man. 

“It’s my pleasure. Please share some of this with me,” I say, gesturing to the bread between us. I take a sip of my coffee, then make an undignified squawking noise as it burns my tongue with its heat. 

That’s one way to get past my nervousness, I suppose.

I smile/grimace at his unabashed chuckle at my awkwardness and sit back to wait for him to begin. He called this meeting, after all.

“How are you doing?” 

“I’m doing well, thanks. How are you doing?”

“No, April, how are you doing _really_? I don’t want no cookie-cutter answer.”

 _Okay._

Starting out with the big guns, I guess. I have to remember that he’s military. Not just military, but Special Forces. Whatever I’ve seen, he’s seen worse. He’s probably done worse. I don’t know if it’s the fact that

once he returns from leave, I’ll most likely never see him again, or if it is the fact that he is military and we have gone through something together. Whatever it is, he makes me want to be honest with him in a way I haven’t been with the others that have asked me that question.

“I’m—as expected? Nightmares, trouble sleeping. The usual. I do best when I’m at home with Harriet and Jackson, or so busy I can’t think about it. It’ll pass.” 

“You seem to be handling it okay.”

I am. 

_I think?_

I need to be.

After that first nightmare with Jackson, I bought a nightlight for my bedroom and started sleeping with classical music on. That helped, at first. Or, at least, doesn’t allow me to sink too deeply into the nightmares when they start. 

I’ve avoided waking Jackson up again, at any rate, and that’s all I care about. I can’t keep crawling to Jackson the minute something messes with my mojo. He deserves better than that.

“This isn’t my first rodeo, unfortunately.”

There’s not much that can be said to that, so he just takes a sip of his coffee. His eyes are boring into me, and the silence is eating at my calm. “I can’t sleep. I can’t watch tv, but silence bothers me as much as noise does. I feel myself getting anxious if I sit still too long. Noises, smells. Anything can pull me back. I do best when I’m busy. I’m—twitchy, I guess would be a suitable word?”

He nods his head like that somehow makes perfect sense.

“When I got back from my first tour, it was months before I could watch an action movie again. Every sound of a fist hitting was a trigger.

I hated it. I’m a SEAL, action is kind of my thing, ya know.”

“How did you get over it?”

“It’s different for every person. Some need copious therapy. Others use medications, both prescribed and not. Some shake it off after a few weeks. For myself, every time I feel the depression overwhelm me, I remind myself that I’m still alive. No matter how many people have tried to kill me, and trust me, there’s been a few, I still wake up every morning and see the sunrise.”

“Mind over matter, huh?”

“If that’s how you want to look at it.”

We’re silent again for a few minutes, but it’s not an uncomfortable silence. Just the quietness of two people introspective of their own demons.

“I wanted to let you know that the Navy has finished its investigation.”

“Well, that didn’t take long.” 

It’s been five weeks, give or take, since the shooting took place. I’ve seen investigations last years.

“For once the government didn’t chase its own tail. There wasn’t a lot to investigate, was there?”

I nod my agreement at that. If there was ever a straightforward case of doing the right thing, this was it.

“Have you heard from your C.O.?” 

My commanding officer, he means. The military has more acronyms than medicine, if you could believe it. 

“I have. He said the same thing you did when we met that first time. That there would be an inquisition into my actions that day. I’m not worried.”

“It has been determined that we did not cause the incredibly crazy man to begin randomly shooting strangers in a mall, and that we acted with an appropriate amount of force when we all tackled him to the floor and viciously snapped his arm.”

He tries and fails, to contain a sardonic smile when he speaks.

“They’ll issue you a commendation for bravery and you’ll be awarded the Distinguished Service Cross. You aren’t an active military member anymore, but as a reservist, you still qualify, and your rank of Captain is still valid.” 

He pauses for just a moment but then continues on. 

“Your husband seemed to be under the impression that you were no longer active in the military under any condition. Does he not know that you’re still in the IRR program?”

 _My husband._

Oh, the stories I could tell about what my husbands do or do not know. I’m a terrible wife, I really am. The best thing at this point is just to tell the truth. Lies will not help me anymore. Lies never did help me. Matthew _still_ won’t pick up the phone when I call.

“Actually, Jackson isn’t my husband. At least, not anymore. We’ve been divorced for more than five years. I was married to another man when all of this went down, but we’re in the process of divorce as well. Turns out, I don’t make a very good wife.” 

I give a brief smile and a shrug, just to show that I’m okay with the concept of failing in my wifely duties. 

“I guess it’s my turn to confess then. I already knew that.” 

_What?_

My brain is doing somersaults. If he already knew that, why didn’t they say anything? We never released information about my marital status to the public. Jackson’s and my marriage is easy to confirm online, but the divorce was done quickly and quietly. I doubt there’s a Wikipedia page out there somewhere that states who my current husband is. 

“How? How did you know that? And if you did, why didn’t you say anything about it before? And when? When did you find it out?”

He looks amused at my rapid-fire questions and takes a drink of his coffee before he starts to answer.

_I must seem ridiculous to him._

“You couldn’t tell by watching the two of you, that’s for sure. I think I know what happened with the current husband if he ever saw you with your ex.

“And how? I’m a Navy SEAL, April. It wasn’t that hard. When? About three hours after I met with Dr. Avery, Jackson, for the first time. You made quite an impression, April. I know it’s hard to think about, and I know you don’t want to talk about it, but very few people could do what you did at that mall that day. No offense meant, but that you are a woman, a mother no less, just made it all the more impressive. 

“Jackson’s story about your time in the army just added to the mystique. By the end of that day, I knew everything there was to know about you, from your SAT scores to your driving record. Imagine my surprise when I learned that not only were you _not_ married to the man who introduced himself as your husband, but that you hadn’t been for half a decade.” 

I _should_ be furious at the gross violation of my privacy, but I guess if I were in his position, I’d have done the same thing. He’s staring at me with a funny look on his face. 

I don’t know what to say or do. 

I’m not sure what I was expecting from this meeting, but this certainly wasn’t it. 

I take another sip of my coffee, this time warm instead of scalding, and try to come up with an appropriate response. He saves me from the flip comment I was on the verge of making about my parking tickets by speaking instead.

“Did Jackson—is it okay if I call him Jackson?” 

He doesn’t wait for my reply but continues on, “Did Jackson ever tell you about that first time he met with us? On the day of the shooting.”

“Um no. Well, he told me you’d met with him. He made a joke about Matthew, that’s my current soon-to-be ex-husband, but I guess you already know that don’t you? That Matthew better be prepared to fight for me.” 

He lets out a brief chuckle at that. 

“He wasn’t. Matthew left me the very next morning. But Jackson handed me the paper with your guys’ contact information on it and said that he felt like you were both on the up and up and that I should reach out to you. Jackson was raised differently than what I’d assume you and, certainly, I were. 

“He’s naturally suspicious of people, well past the point where most people’s barriers have come down. I’m assuming you ran a background check on him as well?” 

I wait for his nod in the affirmative. 

“With his place in the economic food chain, he has to be cautious. If he said he trusted you, after only having met you a few hours before, well, I trust his judgment explicitly.”

“You have good instincts. Keep following them. I have good instincts too. They’ve served me well in the past. That’s what I’m doing here today, following my instincts. If, when I’m done, I was out of place, well I’m sorry in advance.”

This is making me very, _very_ nervous. Did something pop up on his super-secret Navy checks that I never knew about? Did Jackson put a hit out on them and didn’t tell me? Is Jackson a covert Parisian spy, and all of this time his doctor persona has just been a cover? 

_Am I a cover?_

_I’ve got to lay off of the comic books._

I don’t know what else to say, but “Okay.” 

I feel like I’m being interrogated in some black ops site instead of what’s actually happening. 

_What is happening?_

I’m being the opposite of interrogated inside a Seattle Starbucks.

“Do you mind me asking what happened to you guys?” 

“Me and Jackson?”

He nods and sips at his coffee.

Now _that_ was unexpected.


	23. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I messed with Jackson and April's history a little bit in this one. But I didn't change anything per say, I simply added to it. I did my research beforehand, and nothing I read or watched told me that this couldn't be true lol.

**Chapter Twenty Three**

## April

## Lost Boy – Ruth B

I sigh heavily, but really, I don’t mind answering the question. It’s just—the truth of the matter is, I don’t enjoy thinking about it.

“Do you want the long version or the quick version?”

“I want the complete version.”

“How much time do you have?” I ask, laughing.

“As long as it takes April.” 

_What happened to us?_

“I’m not sure if your background checks told you this, but we’ve known each other for half of our lives. We met during freshman orientation at our dorm in med school.

“He was tall and gorgeous and already the center of a group of people, even though we’d all only been on campus for a handful of days. When he stood up to state his preferred specialty, he said he was surgery, with a double degree in biology and business. I’d never met anyone else interested in surgery, let alone one who pulled off two majors. 

“He spotted me later that same night. My roommate insisted I go to this party, then ditched me after we walked through the door. I had _no_ desire to socialize with strangers who were just going to think I was weird anyway, so I picked a chair outside in the yard and pulled out my well-used copy of Lord of the Rings. 

“Jackson has a thing for hopeless cases. It’s why he specializes in reconstructive therapy. He took one look at me sitting on that lawn chair, and I flipped every trigger he possesses. I was the ultimate hopeless case. Being super religious? It didn’t help my street cred. My time on the farm taught me about hard work and discipline, not about socializing. My only friends were book characters. I saw no need to change that before heading into med school. 

“We spent the entire evening arguing about the Lord of the Rings trilogy, which he’d only read because it was a school requirement. We’ve been pretty much inseparable since then. Our sophomore year, we left the dorms and got an apartment together. We got into th the same residency program. He said it was fate. Looking back, I’d call it stalking.” 

The thought brings a snicker to both of our faces. He makes a twirling motion with his finger, and I take that as a sign to continue. I guess telling him of our meeting isn’t really telling him of our falling apart. 

“We were best friends, but we didn’t become a couple until almost the end of residency. Jackson was a bit of a playboy; I mean, look at him, right? But I never dated in college. I got the occasional request to go out with someone, but they were few and far between, and I didn’t care. I certainly didn’t care about dating in medical school. Even Jackson’s regular booty calls dropped from a stream to a trickle in med school.”

I wish I had filled my cup with bourbon instead of coffee. This is so embarrassing.

“I was a virgin. I know, don’t give me that look.”

He chuckles at that and stops trying to hide the surprised expression coating his face.

“At the end of our residency, at the hotel designated to take our Board Examines, we fell into bed together. It was—amazing. But I didn’t handle it well. Test stress combined with breaking my vow to God, or whatever…well, it didn’t end well. I failed my boards.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. That was the beginning on Jackson’s and mine off and on relationship. I would swear we wouldn’t do it again, and twenty minutes later we’d be falling back into bed. Fast forward a few years, and I’m standing at the alter with another man, when Jackson stands up and stops the wedding. Tells me he loves me, even when he hates me.”

Daniel’s eyes are bugging out of his head, and I nod my head in agreement. I realize I’m chewing on my bottom lip I quickly release it from its grasp.

I can still remember it like it was yesterday. I was dizzy, swaying on my feet, when I realized I’d stopped breathing the minute he stood up in the aisle. The gasp of air I sucked in, and the way it felt as the oxygen hit my blood stream. The feel of my hand in his, as we ran out of the barn together.

“Did I mention, it was Matthew at the bottom of the aisle with me.”

“Wow,” he mouths silently, and I give a tiny shrug.

“Jackson and I eloped the next day. We were married before the weekend was over. We got pregnant a few months later. It was unexpected, or as unexpected as these sorts of things between two sexually active married people can be.

“It was, the happiest time of my life.”

I have to swallow back the anguish that’s crept its way into my throat. 

“We lost the baby, at twenty-four weeks. We learned he had a terminal disease and wouldn’t live after birth. He was—,” and even after all this time, the thought of Samuel brings tears to my eyes. “He was hurting, even inside the womb, so we induced delivery, and I held our son in my arms, and Jackson held me, until Samuel died, an hour after his birth.”

I bring my fingers to my eyes, wiping away the tears dripping down my face. Daniel reaches out and places his hand on the table palm up, and I place my hand in his, allowing him to offer me comfort I desperately need.

I clear my throat and try to find my voice.

“That’s when I joined the IRR program. Owen, my mentor, was Army, and suggested it to me. We went together the first time. I reupped two more times after he left. That’s when we fell apart. Jackson; he needed me home to heal. I needed to forget it ever happened.

“He was done with us, before I even made it home. I fought him, kicking and screaming. Ironically enough, I’ve never believed in divorce. But it’s what Jackson wanted, and all I’ve ever wanted was for him to be happy. In healing myself, I lost my husband.”

“But, and excuse me for pushing, but don’t you have a child now? How did that happen?” 

I can feel the blush rushing over my collarbones and up my throat. 

“Okay, but don’t judge me.” 

Giving me an enormous smile, he leans in closer and puts three fingers in the air. 

“Boy scouts honor, I won’t say a thing.” 

“Well—” 

I’m squirming in my seat, and I don’t know why this makes me feel so embarrassed. But I guess I’ve never had to explain it to anyone who didn’t already know Jackson and me. 

“When Jackson and I got together—” 

_Shitballs._ “I was raised in a very religious family. Living in the middle of nowhere, as we did, didn’t lend itself to romantic entanglements. When things between Jackson and I became physical, they became _physical_. Like _wow_. 

“Even after everything that happened between us, that has never changed. He just has to walk into a room and—” I fade off because the horror of admitting this out loud to someone has taken my voice, but Daniel surprises me with his response. 

“ _Well, look at him_.” 

The bark of laughter that escapes me brings eyes in our direction, but Daniel is grinning at me ear to ear. I can feel the color that has crept up my face change from embarrassment to amusement. I throw my arm out at him in exclamation.

“Yes! You understand. We were angry with each other. In love, but not? Couldn’t have a civil conversation outside of the hospital without it ending in a verbal brawl, and then most of our verbal brawls turned into a brawl in the sheets. That’s how Harriet came to be. Let me tell you, that didn’t stop the brawling like you’d think it would have.

“But it stopped the sex, which is weird because you’d think it would have given us the free for all. It wasn’t like there were any more physical consequences. 

“But the emotional consequences were big enough. We even tried to live together again for a while after Harriet was born, but that didn’t work out either. Then the occasional sex just became too hard. Seeing him holding our daughter, I felt like we should have been a family, but we weren’t, and it killed me. Jackson was made to be a father and have a family, but I wasn’t his wife anymore. Eventually, he found someone else. And I, I married Matthew. For real, this time.” 

The way Daniel is looking at me is making me squirm in my seat. I can’t read him, and I’m good at reading people these days. _Damn SEAL training._ Maybe he’s the one who’s the covert operative? With a poker face like that, he should join the CIA when he leaves the Navy.

“For what it’s worth, and I know it’s not much, but for what it’s worth, he still loves you. Like _loves_ you. You should have seen him the day of the shooting, April. His fear and anger over you were a sight to behold. The way you guys interact together, you don’t behave like a couple that’s been divorced for years and years. You behave like partners. As someone who relies on my partner for my life, that’s the highest compliment I can give you. If I hadn’t had already known the truth, I never would have guessed that you guys aren’t still a couple. Not just a couple, but _The Couple_. You may not have been able to take care of each other before, but you’re both doing a damn fine job of it now. Take it from someone who isn’t part of the drama.” 

“He’s my best friend. No matter what’s happened, he’s always been my best friend.” 

“If our first confrontation with him wasn’t proof enough, when we met with you both together sealed the deal. You don’t have that physical response over someone you don’t have feelings for. I’m not talking about _we share a child so we will always be friendly_ feelings. I have those feelings for my ex. That is not what I saw.”

“Love was never our problem.”

“Then what was?”

“You know what, right now? I can’t really tell you


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter Twenty Four**

## Jackson

## Say Something – Justin Timberlake and Chris Stapleton

It’s six AM, and I’m sitting in the living room lacing up my running shoes. There’s a treadmill in the building gym, but today I need the sweat of sunlight. This early in the morning, the sun is just starting to rise, and the air is still damp and dewy with sleep. I have on my standard skintight runner’s pants with a pair of gym shorts over top of that with a basic tee. 

Stretching in the living room before I head out, I leave my regular _Gone Running_ note on the kitchen counter before I tuck my phone into its designated spot and head out of the door.

Running used to be the place I centered my thoughts. Now my thoughts are already centered on one thing and one thing only.

_April._

She’s upped her search for a place to live. 

I won’t lie to myself and say it hasn’t been amazing having Ellabeth with me for the last few weeks. We dropped back into old routines as if we never lived apart. April gets Harriet up and ready for school every day. She makes dinner every night, and if I’m home in time, we make it together. With the leftovers, she packs me lunch and has it sitting in the fridge ready before she heads to bed each night. 

It’s different now, because we don’t have all of that _new parents but not lovers_ tension between us like we did the last time we lived together. 

We haven’t been this comfortable and in sync since we lived together in school. Or maybe when we were first married. Before life hit us in the face. We’re _us_ again, and it feels great. 

It feels _right_. 

Harriet is happy and active, and we do things as a family after dinner like watch TV or read and practice his numbers and letters. She’s almost beyond that already. She’ll be able to read before she starts kindergarten.

I start my jog out slow, feeling the pavement vibrate through my legs and into my core. I’m not in my twenties anymore, and my knees know it, but I’m still in great shape. My pace picks up a block or two down from my apartment. 

Lil’ Wayne is blasting through my headphones, but it’s more or less in the background of my mind. Being used as a metronome to keep me moving on pace. Despite the daily, multiple times a day, reminders that I shouldn’t be thinking about her as much as I do, my mind always wanders back to April when there is nothing else to stop me.

It went better than I thought it would go with Maggie. Better than I deserve, that’s for sure. I went over to Maggie’s house to spend the night a few times after April moved in with me, since Maggie didn’t feel comfortable staying the night with April there. It was nice to be with Maggie, just the two of us, but the nights I was with her I was missing being home with Harriet and April. 

_That should have been my first clue._

She yelled and cried, but didn’t rail against me like I was expecting. _Like Ellabeth did when I ended it with her._ While it killed me that I was hurting her, it didn’t kill me that I was doing it. She didn’t seem surprised. 

Resigned, really. 

I’m not looking forward to seeing her around the hospital. Even if it wasn’t a bad breakup, as breakups go, it still happened, and it makes for an awkward working environment when you dump your co-worker for your live-in ex-wife. 

_Especially when your ex-wife doesn’t know you dumped your girlfriend for her._

All in all, Maggie acted like she knew it was coming. And if every one of our inner circle seemed to see this coming except for me, it makes me a little mad that nobody said anything to me about it before now. 

A _Hey Jackson, April is the love of your life what are you doing you asshole_ would have been nice a few years ago. Or maybe they did say it, and we just didn’t want to listen. People did make a big deal about April staying with me after all. Maybe her being asleep on my couch was always a foregone conclusion. 

If so, I would really prefer to have her sleeping in my bed. _Preferably naked._

It’s disconcerting how quickly this became my new normal. I’m not sure how I’m going to give it up when the time comes. I don’t want to give it up.

After Harriet goes to bed each night, we stay up for a few more hours, talking. She’s a surgery junky and she’s been out of the game way too long. I don’t know how she’s done it, to be honest. 

She could hardly tolerate the few weeks she was out when Harriet was born. I don’t know how she’s gone years without the rush of the scalpel in her hands. 

We go over my day’s surgeries step by step, getting into all the juicy details. We talk about the state of the emergency department, the things that she can improve upon and the things that have stayed the same since she last worked there. I know I’ve told her multiple times that Owen still mumbles under his breath that the ED “just doesn’t run right without Kepner here.” He’s been walking on clouds since her return was announced. 

We talk about Harriet and what they did that day, and how she’s adjusting to not having Ruby around.

One night we got into a heated discussion about the gunman and what they should do with him. Now I’m a doctor, and therefore, am not a big proponent of things like the death penalty. But if they knocked on my door today and offered me the opportunity to kill the bastard myself, I may have to consider it. Ellabeth is of the opinion that the man is mentally unstable and needs to be in a hospital. 

_She’s wrong._

I mean, the man _is_ deranged. What kind of sane person shoots up a mall? But she’s wrong, either way. He deserves to be dead or in prison. Nothing in between.

Her nightmares have stopped too. 

_Thank God._

Or at least, I think they have. I asked her for a few days after that first one, and she claimed she hadn’t had any more. But April is as stubborn and independent as they come, and I make a mental note to ask her about it again.

She’s reached out to Matthew a few times, to only receive short, clipped text messages in response. As far as I can tell, she’s more pissed about being kept from Ruby than she is about Matthew. To the untrained observer, she seems dismayed that her husband left her and took one of her children with him. 

But I am not untrained. I keep thinking back to what she said when she was on those pain killers. That she doesn’t care, and that she chose me over him. _Repeatedly_. 

_It’s inappropriate how much I think about it._

When it’s just us, all she rants about is that Matthew won’t let her see Ruby. She was adopting her. It was vital that Ellabeth had a legal right to Ruby if anything happened to Matthew. But the paperwork wasn’t completed. She’s reached out to her lawyer to see what sort of legal recourse she has and to get the divorce in motion.

The angrier she gets, the worse it’s going to be for him. 

Matthew, the poor bastard. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. He fucked with the wrong girl. He’s got no chance against Seattle’s Own Doctor _._

She hasn’t once mentioned a desire to fix the marriage. Dismayed that she’s failed again, as she sees it? _Sure._

Pouting about what God must think of her? _That’s a given._

But upset that she hasn’t seen Matthew in weeks? That if things continue on this path, she may never see him again outside of a courtroom? _Nope_. 

Doesn’t seem that upset at all. 

My chest swells with pride. 

When _we_ got divorced, she fought me kicking and screaming all the way until we had the pen in our hands. She shouldn’t have married him, to begin with. She was still in the post-near-death experience afterglow.

If we were the responsible friends we claimed to be, we would have stopped her. 

But I wanted her to be happy.

I thought he was the better man. 

_I was wrong._

She’s supposed to start back at the hospital Monday, and I can’t think of any more excuses to keep her from it. Her arm has healed great. I did a wonderful job on it, if I say so myself. Within a year there will hardly be any scar at all. 

I took the stitches out and smother it in scar-reducing cream before bed every night; despite her laughing protestations that she’s more than capable of taking care of the wound herself. 

She claims my Mark Sloan is showing. He’d _never_ let any of the ladies in his life walk around with a scar if he could help it. 

It’s not that I don’t want her back at work. Just the opposite. I’m embarrassed at how excited I am to see her name on the surgery board again. She’s got her old locker in the attending area, and it’s fantastic to see it there again. I brought home her contract the other night to have her sign it, and I felt a surge of victory when she signed and handed it back to me, even though I had little to nothing to do with her coming back. 

No, the problem is that the after-shooting bubble is getting ready to pop, and I’m not prepared for it. 

I catch April looking at houses and apartments on her phone all the time. She’s even mentioned breaking into the trust fund, which she’s sworn she’d never do. 

If I hear her promise she’ll _let me get back to normal_ one more time, I’m going to lose my shit.

This should be my life right now. Only Harriet would not be an only child. By this point in time, I’m sure she’d have a baby brother or sister. Hell, maybe both. There was a point in my life where I wanted nothing more than to see Ellabeth fat and happy with my baby in her belly.

But that’s not my life. I thought I was past the point of longing for what could not be. 

I’ve reached the coffee shop that’s my regular turning around point, and I pause with my hands on my knees, catching my breath. It used to be that I would get a small coffee and take a few minutes to cool down before I start the several miles run home. 

_Not anymore._

I know Ellabeth will have the coffee made and waiting for me before I get back and I don’t stop the smile that spreads across my face at the thought of it. I step in the coffee house to get a bottle of water then head back home. 

This time, I blast the volume on my music to block out my thoughts and take my longing for what could have been out on the pavement. 


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter Twenty Five**

## Jackson Burn, Usher

By the time I get to the apartment door, my heartbeat has almost returned to normal, and the sweat is cooling against my skin. I want nothing more than to grab a cup of coffee and jump into the shower. 

The sight and sounds that assault me when I open my door bring a whole slew of other ideas to my mind. I hear music as soon as I twist the handle. The bottom level of the apartment is one big open space, besides the kitchen; which has the breakfast counter and a partial wall blocking it off.

She must have hooked her phone up to the blue tooth speaker I have by the television. It’s Katy Perry’s “Roar” and never have I heard a more appropriate song for my Ellabeth. 

Easing my way through the front room and toeing off my shoes as I go, I watch her in the kitchen. She piled her hair on her head haphazardly, with the bun falling apart as I watch. Tendrils of messy, frizzy strands are cascading down her neck. She’s in a light blue cami and shorts so small they hardly warrant the word. 

They may even be boy shorts now that I’m staring at her. Every time she lifts her arms, I see a strip of skin between her low cut bottoms and her top. The color of her top and the flush of the music have made her pale skin luminescent, and I can see her scattering of freckles all the way over here. The only thing marring her perfection at this moment is the scar tight across her upper arm. 

She’s got the waffle iron out, (they’re Harriet’s favorite), and is dancing and jumping around the kitchen like she doesn’t have the smallest care in the world. The music switches over to “Just Dance” by Lady Gaga, and if possible, her frenetic energy kicks up a notch. 

_“Play that record babe,”_ she sings at the top of her lungs.

I lean back against the couch and just watch her, in the pose she told me was so sexy the night we loaded her on pain killers. Even when she has to slow her movements to open the waffle iron, her head and knees still bob in beat to the music. 

She is so beautiful, it hurts to watch her. 

After all of this time, I wonder again how such a tiny little person, someone so different from me in so many ways, could crawl into my soul and plant herself there so firmly.

Harriet sees me as she comes down the stairs, and she breaks the spell when she yells out my name. I bend low to pick her up when she reaches for me and put her on my hip, then turn my attention back to Ellabeth. She jumped when she saw I was watching her.

Instead of bitching me out, she pours me a cup of coffee and dresses it just the way I like it before meeting me halfway and placing it in my free hand. 

She says nothing to me, just sings and dances and takes Harriet from my hip to place her on her special bar stool. It sits higher than the others and has a back; but doesn’t have a belt as a booster does. 

While she’s getting Harriet ’s waffle smothered in butter and syrup, I resume my pose, only this time against the kitchen counter where the waffle iron is sitting. 

_Close enough to make her squirm._ I revel in the flush of her skin when she sees me cross my ankles with both of my hands on my coffee mug. 

I wasn’t sure before, but now I’m positive she doesn’t remember her brain purge while she was high. 

She takes me in, from my bare feet to the second skin compression pants. Sweat drenches my shirt and clings to my form in all the right ways. She chews on her bottom lip in that way she has, and it takes all of my will power not to grab her around the waist and plop her onto the kitchen counter. The more she blushes, now looking everywhere she can to not meet my eyes, the cockier my grin becomes.

“Breakfast ready?” I ask as innocently as possible. I had planned on taking a shower when I got home, but plans can change. 

“Yours is cooking now. Why don’t you get out of those sweaty clothes while it’s finishing up?” 

_My pleasure._

With no conscious decision of what I’m doing, I put my coffee on the counter and push away. Reaching behind me, I pull my wet shirt off and drop it to the floor, then put my hands on my waistband and drop my shorts. I shove my hands into my waistband to push my pants off, but stop and let her take me in. She takes an audible breath, and I feel it deep in my gut, among other places, to get such an immediate and vocal reaction out of her.

Flustered and pretending she’s not, she turns towards the waffle iron and says, “Go put those in the dirty clothes, Jackson. That’s not very sanitary.” 

Her voice is wavering and high. It’s a fucking turn on, getting this kind of response from her.

I don’t know what’s come over me, but I have no control over what is happening right now.

“We’ve done less sanitary things in a kitchen than that before,” I say as I invade her personal space. 

My voice is huskier than normal, and I virtually ooze sex. It would be pathetic if it were happening with anybody else. I _don’t_ lose control. 

_With anyone other than Ellabeth._

I take another step closer as her entire body responds. Goosebumps crawl over her skin, and I wonder if her gut is clenching in memory and anticipation as tightly as mine is. I reach up and run one finger down her arm and back up again, so faintly she could pretend she didn’t feel it. 

She doesn’t pretend.

Her chin sinks to her chest, and I can see her self-control peeling off her in layers. She tips her head back to the ceiling, and I look down at her. I expect her to meet my eyes, only to see them closed as if in prayer. The image of us so close together, her light skin underneath my dark, in a pose so innocent yet so intimate, just _does_ it for me. 

Closing the gap between us, I tighten my arm across her torso, right under her breasts. I run my other hand to the front of her throat to both caress and pin her to me. She angles her face to the side, leaving herself bare for me, her eyes still closed, and I press my front tight to her back as I lean down to kiss her. I’m hard as a rock, and I know she can feel it pressed up against her. 

My face is mere inches above hers when Harriet calls out for more milk. We both jerk at the shock. I feel like I’ve been doused in cold water. 

_Or I need to be._

April’s immediate response is to panic, as always, and she tries to pull away from me to go help Harriet. I tighten my hold on her for just a moment, leaning my head onto hers to calm myself. I’m sure she can feel my heart pounding against her back, because I feel her carotid galloping under my palm. We’re both panting as if we’ve run miles and she leans her head back against me, relaxing as she does. Her arms reach behind her and wrap themselves around my hips, giving me an awkward hug. 

When Harriet asks for more milk again, I lean down and place a light kiss behind her ear, whispering “This isn’t finished,” before I let her go.

“I think I’m gonna take that shower, after all. Go ahead and eat without me. I’ll be out in a few minutes. You can have the next set of waffles.”

She always feeds herself last. 

I retreat out of the kitchen, grabbing my clothes off the floor as I go, and escape into my bedroom. I don’t know whether to thank Harriet, or to curse her. _What the fuck did I just do?_

More importantly, why did April let me do it?

When the icy water from my shower doesn’t help, I wrap my hands around my cock. I’m coming all over my hand in less than a minute. 

_The things she does to me._

I use the water to flush April from my system. _It fails._

 _What the hell was that, Avery?_

I’ll tell you what that was. 

I’m in love with Ellabeth. That’s what that was. _Shit. I am so fucking screwed_. I need my head on straight when I go back out there, no matter what happens next. I take longer than I want to, but I need to get my head in the game.

 _Because if we’re playing a game, I intend to win._

It’s almost fifteen minutes later when I leave the bedroom again. However, April put that time to excellent use. By the time I reach the kitchen, she and Harriet are gone. It stings, knowing she left without saying goodbye. I’ll be at work by the time she’s done with Harriet. 

There’s a fresh note on the counter though, so I pick it up to read it while I refresh my coffee.

_J_

_Taking Harriet to school, your waffles are in the toaster oven to keep them yummy. Going to the store today. Text me with any special requests and with what you want for dinner. See you tonight._

_Love,_

_E_

It’s so domestic it makes my chest ache. There’s not a hint of a April who’s mad at me or worse, spiraling out. Simply a woman taking care of her daughter and her husband. _Ex-husband._

_Whatever._

If this would be my life with a choice or two different, then it’s time to make those choices.

With a smile on my face, I pull the plate out of the oven and eat my home cooked breakfast.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty Six**

## April

After I take Harriet to school, I head into Grey Sloan and see if I can’t scrub into another surgery. It’ll take me a while to get back used to standing still for hours at a time, and it’s nice to use this time when I can

come and go to get my body readjusted to it. I found Link in the hallway and scrubbed in with him again. Maybe I should have gone into orthopedic surgery. He seems to always be hopping in and out of the OR suite.

Jackson is still in surgery by the time I get done with mine. Took three and a half hours, right on schedule. Everything went perfectly, and the man should be up and moving within a couple of weeks. Today only cemented that I’ve done the right thing in choosing to come back to the hospital. 

Running the ED differs from running a typical surgery department, and it takes someone who is proficient in administration _and_ medicine. I figure 40% percent of my time will be devoted to paperwork and general hospital crap, while the other 60% I can be with patients. The other specialties are more like 20/80%, and the Chief is closer to 70/30%. 

I do not understand why Alex wanted to be chief of surgery. You couldn’t pay me enough to take on that kind of responsibility. But, surprising us all, he thrives in the position.

I peek into the gallery, but don’t let anyone know that I’m there. I don’t even go in deep enough for the residents and interns watching to notice me. From what I can tell, barring any complications, Jackson will be home an hour or two after me. It’s a quiet OR today, but that’s not surprising. Jackson doesn’t work with other surgeons all that often, outside of his resident and intern, whereas the rest of us share an OR on a fairly regular basis. We heal the inside of people. Jackson heals a person’s outside so that their inside can heal itself. 

Our OR was anything but quiet. Link is one of those surgeons that likes to listen to music while he works, and I gotta say—I kind of dug it. He asked me about working with the homeless and veterans, and if I would have any input into the memorial clinic that is in the works. We spent some time talking about my time overseas and some field techniques I’ve brought with me into the operating room. 

He also got a huge kick out of the fact that I used to be married to a plastic surgeon. I think it’s from all the scars he’s either seen or heard about since I’ve seen him. I got the impression that he’s been told the wilder stories in the week since we operated last. He and Jackson are friends, but he kept asking me questions like if Jackson was picky about what type of face cream I used. I laughingly told him he was a surgeon and not a dermatologist. 

What I _didn’t_ tell him is that I still use the same face cream Mark recommended us girls use almost a decade ago. Mark _could_ have been a dermatologist. He complained about sun rays more than a celebrity makeup artist. 

It’s on the pricey side, but worth it. It has excellent sunscreen properties, and my skin is still as smooth and pale as ever. Come to think of it, I’m not sure Jackson even knows why I use the cream I use. I’m sure it’s not something that came into conversation while we were together, and I can’t think it would have since then. If he ever noticed that most of us ladies used the same one, I bet he assumed it was from convenience. 

Jackson tries to ignore the fact that he’s gorgeous more often than not, and the perks and trials that come with that. Mark Sloan, plastic surgeon God, worked his sexiness like an art form.

Being with Link is just the distraction I needed from brooding about this morning. 

If Harriet hadn’t been around today, I would’ve had Jackson right there on the kitchen floor—and reveled in every second of it. I forgot about Harriet’s very existence the minute Jackson took off his shirt. 

And that’s bad. _That’s really bad._

I don’t know what got into us this morning, and I’m sure my dancing around the kitchen in my underwear had something to do with it, but we can’t let it happen again. It’s time for me to get a grip on myself and give Jackson back his life.

Jackson sends me a text right after I get home that he’ll be late tonight. I hope everything was okay with his patient. Not knowing if he was sending it himself or if he was having one of the scrub nurses send it for him, I sent back _Fridge or Toaster oven?_

It used to be our way of determining what to do with a dinner that had already been made. Plate it and put it in the fridge or keep in warm in the toaster oven? The single _unknown_ I get back from him is a bad sign to how his evening is going, and I send up a brief prayer for Jackson and his patient.

Martha, not knowing when either of us would get home, had already fed Harriet, so I hold off on making dinner for the time being. Maybe Jackson will be home soon, and I won’t have to do anything special for him to eat a hot meal. I know it’s not my place to worry that he eats, but I can’t help it. It’s in my DNA. 

It’s been my role since I was old enough to have a role. Make sure I feed my people. I’ve always enjoyed being the mother hen of the group. It made me belong even when I felt like I didn’t. 

Harriet brings me the packet of worksheets that are _supposed_ to last him a week. They send them in the middle of the week; that way the kids have something to work on over the weekend instead of just watching TV nonstop. 

Harriet always insists on finishing hers as quickly as she can. Just like her mother, she can’t stand to have homework waiting and calling her name, even if it isn’t even homework at this age. We sit down and pull out her crayons, finishing the papers and putting them back into her book bag for the teachers to locate tomorrow. Sometimes they’ll send home additional pages, but Jackson and I clarified it isn’t necessary. 

With our work schedules, sometimes it’s easier for us to handle just the one set of worksheets a week. It’ll get worse now that I’m back in surgery. I feel a twang of guilt knowing that despite our best efforts, she will be spending more time with the nanny now that Matthew is out of the picture and I no longer have an 8-5ish schedule. 

But most of our friends have kids now or will have shortly, and they’re all doing fine. Our children know our jobs, even the younger ones. They’ve spent enough time in the hospital and listening to us talk about it. I feel confident she knows, even at the ripe young age of almost 4, that we’re only away from her because we’re saving the lives of other people. ZoZo is already studying surgery film and talking about medical schools. Our kids are turning out just fine, thank you. 

I put Harriet to bed at eight and consider making something to eat. I wasn’t hungry when I first got out of surgery, but now I’m starving. 

I don’t want to text Jackson in case he’s in a life or death situation with a patient, but I’m hoping that I’ve delayed cooking long enough that he’ll come home before it’s ready, or close enough after that he can eat while it’s still fresh. I think it’s ironic that Jackson has a state-of-the-art kitchen, and it only gets cooked in every few days.

That’s being generous.

Without me, Jackson wouldn’t use it at all except for cereal and the microwave. It’s quiet by myself, but I can’t turn on the TV. Especially alone. As a compromise, I turn on a podcast and listen to an episode of stories of the ER.

He still isn’t home by the time dinner is done, and I sit at the kitchen counter and pour myself a glass of wine. I’m ashamed to admit how lonely I am without him. I know it needs to be done, but I’m not looking forward to living on my own again. Harriet can only take up so much of my attention, and while I love spending as much time with her as I can, it’s nice to have another adult to talk to.

It’s nice to have _Jackson_ to talk to. 

I’ve lived with another adult during the last two years, and what I learned is that a ninety percent compatibility score given by your church equals boring. We had a boring, blah-filled marriage. 

Who would have thought bickering with Jackson every night would be more fun than agreeing with Matthew? 

But that’s the problem. I can’t have Jackson to talk to and bicker with every night. He’s not mine anymore. As much fun as this brief step out of space has been, it’s time to get back to the real world.

With my mind made up, I head onto my phone and see if there’s been any change in the housing situation since I looked last. I want a house instead of an apartment, and I’d prefer to buy—not a fixer upper per se, but something that I can put my stamp on. 

I’m tired of moving around so much.

Since I plan on staying at Grey Sloan for the foreseeable future, it’s time to put down roots. It will be a few months at least before I have enough time and money saved to take that step, unless I break into the dreaded trust fund. I need something safe and affordable for Harriet and me until then. A three bedroom, so I can have a guest room and enough space for Ruby.

My lawyer is filing paperwork for the divorce and to get a temporary visitation order on Monday, the same day I start back at work. I emailed our old landlord asking if the house I rented when Harriet was born was available, and it’s taken him ages to get back to me. 

Dr. Kepner,

The current occupants are moving out as we speak, and I can have the place ready for you in two weeks. The rent has increased, as I am sure you can imagine, it being several years since you last lived with us, and the current rent is $1,800 per month. As you remember, that includes the trash and water utilities built into the lease. There is a satellite on the property now so you can have your choice of TV and internet providers. The gas and electricity providers are still the same, and I have attached their contact information if needed. 

I look forward to having you as a tenant again and await your reply. I have attached the rental agreement and application.

Thank you for your time,

Before I have time to talk myself out of it, I hit reply and type out my answer.

Good Evening,

Perfect! If possible, I need a six-month lease instead of the standard year. I will pay more for the inconvenience of it. If that is acceptable, then I can have the security deposit and first month’s rent to you by the end of the week.

Thank you and have a great week,

Dr. April Kepner

Next, I look up the Marriott suites by the hospital and reserve an apartment for the next two weeks. A trip to the grocery store to fill the fridge, and I’m all set. A good portion of my personal furniture is in a storage unit, including my dishes and most of my pots and pans. 

Matthew had a set up home when we got married, and as his house was already being purchased, it made little sense at the time to look for another home to buy. It was easier just to put most my things into storage. His wife hadn’t even been dead a year, and I didn’t want him or Ruby to think I was pushing her out of their memories. Now I see that it was just another way for me to avoid committing myself to the marriage. His easy acquiescence that we keep the home just like his deceased wife preferred it was another example that he wasn’t ready to move on.

After cleaning up my mess in the kitchen and making a plate for Jackson to eat when he gets home, if he comes home, I head upstairs to get ready for bed. After a half-hour of tossing and turning, it’s clear that I won’t be able to sleep. 

_I’m used to it by now._

I go into the office to get a pad of paper and a pen and stop at Jackson’s bookshelf. I’m impressed with how large it’s grown over the years; and how organized. Now, instead of all of his medical books stacked in a pile in the bedroom’s corner, they’re all on shelves and organized by subject. He has an entire shelf with books I’d forced him to read over the years. Harry Potter. Chronicles of Narnia. The Daredevil Born Again graphic novel in paperback. He even has a copy of the First Fifteen lives of Henry August. 

I didn’t know he’d read that.

There’s a shelf devoted to religious texts. He has a bible, both the Old

Testament and new. A copy of the Torah and even a small print of the book of Islam. There are books on Buddhism and meditation and yoga, spirituality, and several on the correlation between science and religion. 

There’s a full-sized paperback of Medicine and Religion, and it’s clear that he’s read it several times. The edges are ragged, and the spine is so broken you can see every ridge from the outside. Pulling it from the shelf, I see that Jackson has scribbled notes and thoughts in the margins and between the lines on almost every page.

I know that my accident strengthened his thoughts about God if not religion. We’ve talked about what reinforced his faith after I woke up from the coma. He’d started coming to church with Harriet and me whenever we could finagle it.

What I didn’t realize until I started staying with him was he had his own church, kind of, that he went to on a somewhat regular basis by himself. I _really_ love it. I was planning on asking him if Harriet and I could keep going with him even after I move out, but now I’m not so sure. 

I don’t want to be a burden.

I look again at his bookcases, and I’m in _awe_. 

I wish he’d confided in me that his interest in religion had gotten this extensive. I would pay good money to see Jackson in a yoga pose. Preferably shirtless and in the pants he was wearing this morning. I take the book with me when I head back downstairs.

I’ve never read it, and I’m desperate to read the thoughts and opinions Jackson added into the margins. I just hope he doesn’t get mad at me.

I pour myself another glass of wine, then get started on this weekend’s to-do list. I have a lot to get done before I start a full shift on Monday. 

***

I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I feel is Jackson’s hands on my face and his gentle pull of the book out of my hands. He covers me with a blanket and runs his fingers through my hair, and I drift back off again, hovering somewhere on the verge of asleep and awake.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter Twenty Seven**

## Jackson 

## Hold On – Chord Overstreet

It’s late by the time I get home. 

_Really late._

Ellabeth sent me a text a few hours ago letting me know that she’d held off on dinner until her stomach was eating itself, then put a plate for me in the fridge. The consideration and playfulness in her words brought a small smile to my face, in the middle of a harrowing night. I feel bad for not being in contact this evening, but today threw me for a loop, and I needed the time to center myself before I saw her again.

When I enter my apartment, I’m surprised to see April asleep on the couch. I put my bag on a chair, placing my keys on top and kicking off my shoes and socks, then walk over to where she’s asleep. She’s curled up on her side with her hair covering her face, and my copy of Medicine and Religion in her arms pulled close to her chest. 

I sweep the hair away from her face and push it behind her shoulders, then try to ease the book out of her hands without waking her. She stirs but settles back down, and I pull the blanket off of the back of the couch and cover her with it. Putting the book on the living room table, I see her to-do list next to an empty wine glass. 

I pick it up to see what she’s got written on it. She always was a fan of checklists. This one has items on it about packing up Harriet’s stuff and things that are _presumably_ stored at Nathans’s house, and a grocery list that has items I know she just bought for our apartment here. At the bottom is a hastily written budget and a note to pay the down payment and first months’ rent. 

_Fuck. She’s found a place to live._

Am I going to let this happen again? Am I going to let just let her leave? Unbidden, Sloan’s words come to my mind, forever burned into the outline of my memory. 

_If you love someone, you tell them. Even if you’re scared that it’s not the right thing. Even if you’re scared that it’ll cause problems._

I thought I knew. 

_Once._

Yeah, well, look at how well that worked out for us last time. 

_Yes, look._

Your daughter is sleeping in her bedroom, and her mother fell asleep waiting for you to get home to them. 

_It didn’t turn out so bad if you look at it that way._

I have to believe that after everything that’s happened the past few weeks, hell the past few years, I am as etched into her soul as she is into mine. 

Being honest with my feelings is something I’ve tried hard to work on the last few years. I don’t know why it’s so complicated, being honest about my feelings for April. 

My stomach gives a growl of protest, and I stop staring at her sleeping form and head upstairs to change into a muscle shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. With that done, I head back into the kitchen. When April wasn’t with me, I would never eat a decent meal this late. If I got stuck at the hospital and bothered to come home, I’d just have a bowl of cereal before I went to bed. 

Luckily, being a plastic surgeon, my schedule is pretty even unless I get caught in a trauma or an emergent burn case. Like tonight. Even with Maggie, a good portion of our meals were take-out when Harriet wasn’t with me. It’s the homemaker in April that makes her ensure that everyone around her is happy and fed. I feel like one day I should call up Karen and say thank you for instilling that in her daughter. 

Instead of eating at the kitchen counter, I take my plate back out into the living room and sit on the end of the couch at April’s feet. She always curls in on herself if she’s sleeping alone. It’s as if, if she didn’t have someone to cuddle with her, she would cuddle with herself. 

Not for the first time in the last month, I wonder what happened with her and Matthew. Things obviously weren’t great for them if she made the choice to end her marriage over where she’s working. Would she tell me if I asked her point blank? There once was a time when she told me everything, even if I didn’t want to hear it. 

Hell, most nights, we couldn’t get her to shut up. Smiling at the memories of Alex rolling his eyes as April rambled on, I dig into my dinner. For years Alex only tolerated her because she fed him. 

Now he’s one of her biggest defenders.

I turn the TV on mute, then set it to ESPN. With a quick glance over at April to make sure I didn’t wake her up, I take a sip of my beer. Even warmed up, the chicken alfredo is delicious, and I wonder how she got so good at cooking when she spent the better part of her teen years and adult life doing nothing other than studying.

It’s not a skill the rest of us acquired, that’s for sure. Lord knows

Meredith can’t cook. Most of my cooking skills were forced upon me from April.

I get up to take my plate back into the kitchen and sneeze right as I go put the plate into the sink, letting it slip from my fingers and crash into the basin. It doesn’t make that loud a noise, but in the apartment’s silence, it bounces off the walls. 

April lurches from the couch, chest heaving, gasping for air. Her eyes are wide, and panic filled, darting around the apartment. Even when I enter her field of sight, her panic doesn’t subside. Her hands grip the couch cushions so tight her knuckles are turning white before my eyes. I squat in front of her, placing my hands on her knees and encourage her to mimic my breathing.

“In and out, Ellabeth. That’s right. Slow your heart and concentrate on your breathing. In and out.”

It takes minutes longer than I’d like it to, but finally her body releases its hold on its terror, and she slumps back into the cushions. Placing my fingers on her wrist, I stay that way until I feel her heart drop back into a normal rhythm and her breathing even out. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I dropped a plate.” 

She shrugs, a movement that tells me everything and nothing at once.

“It’s amazing the noises that remind you of gunshots when you’re not expecting it. What time is it?”

“It’s late, too late. I’m sorry, baby.” 

I lift the blanket off the couch and sit down next to her, so close I’m practically sitting on her lap. Then I pull her into me. She stiffens at first, then relaxes against me, body soft and pliable.

“I guess that answers my question about whether you’re still having nightmares. Why haven’t you talked to me about it?”

She gives that fucking shrug, but says nothing further. We sit like that for a while before she breaks the silence between us.

“I’m sorry about today,” she says, and it’s muffled where she has her head lying in the crook of my shoulder.

“Today, what about?” 

I’m running my fingers through her hair, and it’s tangled from the couch and her panic attack.

I wish I had a hairbrush. I love brushing her hair.

“This morning in the kitchen. Or yesterday morning, more like. I shouldn’t have been dancing in my underwear. I won’t let it happen again.” 

I laugh, and lean down to kiss the top of her head.

“Please, don’t stop on my account. You didn’t hear me complaining, did you? Cursing my daughter for cock-blocking me? _Absolutely_. But no complaints about the underwear.”

She swats me on the chest, and I catch her hand and bring it to my face. I rub my cheek against her palm, closing my eyes against the sensation. She tries to sit up, at least as much as me pinning her against me will allow.

“Jackson. I feel it too. The _pull_. Hell, I’m the one who started it this morning. I’m sorry. I should have run and gotten dressed the minute I saw you there, not shake my ass in your face. But it’s been this way with us from the very first time. 

“We’re adult enough to admit that no matter what’s happened between us, that, whatever _it_ is, will always be there to some extent. I don’t know if it was because you were my first, or if it’s just because you’re you. I’ll always love you, in some shape and form. 

“But it doesn’t work. _We_ don’t work. I think we’ve proven that. And you’re with somebody. So, I need to leave. My old landlord, the place I lived after I moved out the last time, he said that he’d have the house ready for me within two weeks. I made a reservation at a hotel starting tomorrow until then. A few weeks apart, and _it_ , whatever it is, will go back into dormancy, and we’ll be us again.” 

“What if this _is_ us April?” 

I hadn’t intended on having this conversation tonight, but when do things with April ever go the way I was planning? 

Now though, I think maybe that’s one thing I love about her. 

I can close my eyes and see my entire future play out with Maggie, or anyone else for that matter. Predictable and safe. But with my Ellabeth, it never plays out the way I expect it to. 

She tells me she loves me then in the same sentence, she tells me we’ll never work. It’s like offering me heaven then finding out they locked the gates. 

My voice is calm, despite the burst of emotion her words give me. She feels it too— _us_ —and for tonight, I’ll consider that a win.

“Jackson,” Her voice is soft and mournful, and she sounds so small and sad. 

“I’m not with Maggie anymore. We ended it.” 

That catches her attention, and I can feel her muscles tighten, her senses sharpening. I’m too tired to open my eyes.

“What? When did that happen? What in the _hell_ did you do, Jackson?

Please don’t tell me you screwed that up!”

“Why do you always assume that it’s something I did?” I ask with irritation in my voice. “Besides, it doesn’t matter when. It did. It’s done. I’m happy with it. We’ll talk about you moving later if you insist. But I’m exhausted, and I have to be back at the hospital in a few hours.”

I am exhausted, and as if to prove my point, I yawn so wide my jaw cracks. April tries to stand up, and I yank her back down. Stretching out on the couch, my feet hit the end where her head was, and I settle my head into the other corner, burying myself deep into the cushions. 

It’s a big couch, but I don’t want to give her an excuse to say that there isn’t enough room for both of us. I tug on her arm, making my intentions clear, and she studies me for a minute before deciding. With the TV still on mute, the sports center highlights reel playing on repeat, she lays down next to me. Her head is on my arm, and it presses her ass into my lower stomach. I push one of my legs in-between hers and wrap my other arm around her waist, pulling the blanket back over us both. 

Within heartbeats, I’m asleep.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****SMUT WARNING!!!
> 
> Also, I'm watching the presidential election results and it's freaking me out, so I'm going to distract myself by spamming A03 with updates. #sorrynotsorry

**Chapter Twenty Eight**

## April

## SOS – Avicii

I don't know what time I fell asleep for the final time last night. I never looked at my phone after Jackson came back to the apartment, and he gave no indication of what time it was besides late. 

When my alarm goes off at 6:30, I feel like I’ve just fallen asleep. 

_For all I know, I did._

I laid on that couch with Jackson wrapped around me for what could have been hours before I drifted off. It's never a position I thought I'd assume again. _Ensconced in Jackson's arms._ He wasn't kidding when he claimed exhaustion. 

Within minutes, his breathing deepened and evened out; warm air blowing on the back of my head. I begged myself to do the same, but while my body is warm and comfortable, my mind refuses to calm.

He's broken up with Maggie? 

But when? 

_Why_? 

It couldn't have been too long ago, because I haven't seen her come to pick up the stuff that she has here, and I think I would remember if he took it out. Did he do it because of me? That thought is terrifying.

And—oddly thrilling. 

But we can't do this again. I'm not sure my heart would survive another trip on the merry-go-round that is me and Jackson. We've finally gotten to a place where we were happy with other people. Well, _he’s_ happy. I've been happy-ish. Pleased for each other at least. 

If we tried and failed again, I'm not sure my heart would survive it. But he broke up with Maggie. He said we'd talk about me moving out, like there was a situation in which I didn’t. 

My mind is chasing itself in circles. I can't think about it anymore. I’ll go insane. All I can do is enjoy the feel of his arms around me, even if it's just for tonight, and try to will myself to sleep.

When my alarm goes off, it's like an electric shock with a poker. I may have barely fallen asleep, but it was an uninterrupted sleep, _for once_. 

Typically, my phone is under my pillow, so it muffles the sounds and vibrations. It's a jar to the system to hear not only the music playing, but the sound of the phone vibrating against the table. 

I've turned in my sleep, so I’m facing Jackson, using his chest and shoulder as a pillow. The arm underneath me is numb and tingling; the arm on top is flung across his neck. From the feel of it, my leg is up and around Jackson's hip. 

Jackson is wrapped tight around me, even more so than last night, with his top leg wedged between mine and his hand on my ass. I feel him jerk. Waking up in this position, it's almost like the past five years haven't happened. 

_Like I'm back where I belong._

But they _did_ happen. I'm married to another man, and I can't let myself get pulled back into this again. I try to pull away so I can get to the phone, but Jackson refuses to slacken his grip on me.

"Jackson, let me loose. I can't reach the phone. The noise is killing me."

Instead of letting me go, though, he rolls us both over so he is above and grabs my phone himself. Hitting the button, he drops it on the couch then settles back on top of me. He lowers himself from his hands and knees to rest his weight on his forearms, and there's scarcely any space between us. 

The motion of him doing a push up with me underneath him is nothing short of an act of seduction. 

My legs and hips automatically spread to accommodate him, and I can feel his morning arousal against me. It takes all of my will power not to rub myself against him. He must have read my mind, or my body. His face blooms with that cocky little _You know you want me_ smile he has, and I just want to kiss it off his face. 

But I can't, because we can't do this again. 

I can't go down the rabbit hole that is Jackson and me. 

He lowers his head against mine and rubs his face against me like a cat, then slowly, deliberately, thrusts himself against me. Even through our clothes, I can feel how hard he is, and the feel of that slow hard pressure rubbing up against my clit sets my entire body on fire. 

The yawn I felt creeping up my chest becomes a desperate intake of breath as desire shoots through my central nervous system. I try to use what little brain cells I have left and raise my hands to his chest to give some separation between us.

"Jackson." 

My voice is high and whiny with yearning. I need it to be firm and resolute with my refusal. My body is a traitor, but with Jackson so close that we're sharing air and our chests are touching with my rapidly increasing inhales, I guess I can't blame it.

"Ellabeth." 

His voice is deep and thick and is dripping with emotion; hunger, promise, expectation, and a request for my consent. The way he puts so much into one paltry word weakens the low resistance I have against him.

"We can't do this," I say, but I sound weak, and I know it. He uses one of his big hands and wraps it around both of my little wrists, then slowly, _teasingly,_ moves my hands up over my head and onto the arm of the couch. 

He keeps eye contact the entire time, giving me plenty of opportunities to put a stop to this. 

But let's be honest. 

I was never going to put a stop to this. 

He noses my neck, and I tilt my chin back to give him better access as he latches his lips onto the part of my throat that makes me go from zero to ready-to-fire in an instant. 

"Jackson." 

It comes out as a whisper now, and even to my own ears I can't tell if I'm pleading for him to stop, or begging for him to go on forever. 

With a pull of his lips and a flick of his tongue, I feel my body buck under him. When my core rubs up against his length with force, all thoughts of denying us go out the window. I let my body take over. I pull my hands out of his grip and push them up under his shirt to rake my hands and nails up his back, turning my head to find his lips with my own. 

Our first real kiss in years is _soul-shattering_. I can feel down to my toes. The earth moves underneath me.

I never made out with a boy on my couch like a teenager, but I imagine it would be something like this. Only I'm sure a teenage boy would never be as skilled as Jackson. 

He spreads his legs and pulls his knees closer to my ass, using his thighs to angle my hips up and off of the couch, and his slow and long lazy thrusts become faster and harder. 

The hand holding my wrists now supports his weight on the arm of the couch while the other comes up to wrap into my hair and hold on to my face and neck. 

His hands are so big compared to me, and I always loved it when he held my neck. 

Not to choke, but to possess. If we keep this up much longer, I will come right here on this couch, and I belatedly realize that that's probably his goal. It's been months since I've had any kind of sexual intercourse with a man, even longer than that since I had sex with a person—with _the_ person—who taught me about my own sexual desires, and the pressure is building. 

Quickly. 

"Jackson." 

This time, it comes out hard and strained and is instantly swallowed by his mouth. He moves the hand from my neck to my breast, pulling over the tightened nipple with his thumb and forefinger, and growls, "Now." 

That's all it takes. I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulder blades, pulling myself as tight against him as I can and moan my orgasm into his mouth. As soon as I crest over the edge, the stupid alarm goes off again, and the shock of it sends fresh waves through my body. Jackson lets out a guttural groan deep, and I feel his body tense and arch as he follows me over the edge. 

Gaining at least some of my functionality back, I fumble for the phone next to us and hit the dismiss button. 

_Oh. My. God._

We totally just dry humped on the couch. This is something that teenagers do, not people on their way to forty. My alarm has a twelveminute separation from the alarm I set for Harriet. 

That's all it took for me to go to from determination to put my desire for Jackson out of my mind, to becoming a puddle of goo on his couch. I can feel my wetness dripping down my ass, and I say the first thing that comes to my mind. 

"This is gonna be messy." 

It’s true, in so many different ways, and it sends me off the deep end in a fit of giggles. 

With a groan of my name, Jackson collapses on me. At first, I think he's embarrassed or upset, but when I feel his chest vibrating, I realize he's laughing. I can't breathe between my giggles and his heft and give him a hard shove. 

He ends up on the floor, laying on his side; laughing so hard he's got tears streaming down his face. It's as much a release of tension as it is amusement at what I said. Wiping the tears of laughter from my own face, I sit up on the couch and straddle him as I stand.

"Well, as fun as that was, I have stuff to do today and a daughter to get ready for school. I'll see you later. Now I'm absolutely leaving tonight. That was the one and only thing. Consider it getting it out of our system. It's not happening again." 

As I head up the stairs, I expect to hear some fight from Jackson on the floor, but he quiets for a heartbeat, and then the laughter starts again, slightly more hysterical than before.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still spamming lol

**Chapter Twenty Nine**

**April**

**I Wanna Know – Joe**

I made sure to lock the bathroom door, and my instincts were right because while I'm putting shampoo into my hair, I hear the door handle rattle and Jackson laughing outside in the hallway. He doesn't try to get me to let him in, though, and I hurry through my routine. Due to the unexpected events of this morning, I don't have time to blow dry my hair after my shower. I get dressed and run a brush through it, trying to ignore how sensitive my body is suddenly, and braid it down my back. Telling myself the flush on my skin is from me maybe getting sick, instead of from Jackson's effect on me, I hurry in to wake Harriet up and get her ready for school. 

Harriet is in a mood and dragging her feet, and that puts us even farther behind. Giving up on getting her into her jeans and shoving her into a princess skirt instead, I decide to swing by a drive-through to get her breakfast rather than making something myself. When we get downstairs though, Jackson is in the kitchen and is pushing a plate of toast in front of Harriet's seat at the counter.

"Thank you, Daddy. We're running late today. Someone didn't want to get dressed." Harriet shoots me a dirty look but accepts assistance to climb into her seat and starts shoving the toast into her mouth.

As I'm pouring coffee into one of the travel mugs sitting on the counter, Jackson comes up behind me and whispers in my ear, "Worth it." Louder, he says, "Hurry up Harriet. If you're ready in five minutes, Daddy can walk you to the car."

That gets her moving, and she shoves a whole piece of toast in her mouth. Her cheeks puff out like a chipmunk, and she has to hold her hand over her lips to keep the food in, but she slides down off of the barstool and goes in search of her shoes. We may just make it on time, after all.

The text messages start before I even make it out of the parking spot. Jackson gets Harriet into her seat in the back of my car then heads over the few places to where he’s parked. I'm just getting ready to put the car into reverse when my phone goes off. 

**Jackson: Thank you for last night.**

I look over and see him pulling out of his spot like nothing is out of the ordinary even if he does seem less grumpy than usual. I guess I'll play along.

**April: I didn't do anything last night**

**Jackson: It's the best sleep I've had in ages**

**April: Then, you're welcome. You know I aim to please.**

**Jackson: In that case, you succeeded**

Oh, my goodness. Jackson is totally flirting with me. Harriet is telling me to hurry up in the back seat, but I'm not sure that I can drive with these many butterflies in my stomach. Jackson doesn't flirt. Not like this. He just smolders at you, and you drop your panties. I need to say something back, but what?!

**April: Imagine if I really tried. ;)**

It's lame, but it's the best I can come up with under pressure.

**Jackson: You know I'd never try to tell you what to do**

Bullshit. He's always trying to tell me what to do. He's a lot more like his mother then he wants to admit to sometimes. 

**April: Since when?**

**Jackson: But cancel the hotel**

**April: You know I can't do that.**

I have no intention of canceling that hotel. As good as it may feel this morning, I have to protect my heart. But that doesn't mean I can't enjoy a little flirtation in the meantime.

 **Jackson: We'll see** ☺

I have a busy day today, and with a smile plastered to my face, I drop my phone into the cup holder before I put the car into gear. I have to spend a few hours at the clinic, then a few hours at the hospital. There are only two weekdays left before I start work, and I want as much of the administrative parts out of the way as possible, so I can manage running the ED straight out of the gate. After handling dinner for Harriet and Jackson, I had planned on collecting my stuff and heading to the Marriott. But now I'm going to spend the rest of the day trying not to think about Jackson and that stupid text. And that stupid couch.

I'm barely at the clinic before the texts start back up again.

**Jackson: You've been on my mind a lot today, and it's only 8 A.M.**

Oh my God. I must squeal like a teenaged girl because every person in this room turns to look at me. This, this is not like Jackson. If I didn't know any better, I would think I was being punked. Maggie must have really worked on his texting game. Maybe I should check to see if there's Texting for Dummies book on his bookshelves. 

**April: I would think that as a surgeon you'd have more important things to think about.**

**Jackson: Think again**

**April: Go save a life or something. I at least am trying to work. <3 **

I can't resist the heart at the end, just to soften what sounds like me blowing him off. He doesn't seem to get the hint though. Or doesn't care, because the messages continue.

**Jackson: Alex is grumpy today**

**April: His wife is nine months pregnant. I could see why**

**Jackson: He wanted her to start leave a week ago and she's sitting in her lab. Alex is going to lose it.**

**April: Good thing you weren't like that Jackson: Oh I was like that. I just didn't tell you.**

**April: Really?**

**Jackson: Really. Every time I saw you waddling around the ED I wanted to force you home and onto the couch. Or preferably into bed.**

**April: Ironic really since I had a home birth**

I see the bubbles appear and disappear multiple different times before his text finally comes through.

**Jackson: Not funny. Just for that, now you have to cancel the hotel room.**

**April: How is that not funny? It's been years. I was trying to be cute.**

The bubbles appear immediately, but it takes a while for the text to follow it.

**Jackson: I don't think you realize what that did to me. To hear you scream but not be able to help you? To see you intubated and empty on that gurney? I'd never been as afraid of anything in my life. I could have handled losing the baby. It would have broken me, but I would have survived. I won't survive losing you. And yet you continually put me in the position where I might have to. It's not a funny joke. If you want to joke about almost dying, do it with Meredith.**

Wow.

I mean, wow.

The air is pushed from my lungs, and I'm forced to sit at my desk. I feel like I've been punched in the gut. I don't think he's ever said anything like that to me before. It's both sobering and humbling.

I’d have done anything to ensure Harriet’s safe arrival into this world. But I guess I never really did stop before or afterward to think about what that must have been like for Jackson. Thinking about it, if I were in Jackson's shoes and it came down to Jackson's life or the unborn baby, I probably would have picked Jackson. But he never gave any indication that he was more upset then he would have been if it was any of our friends in that situation. Never gave any indication that it was me he was upset over losing, and not just as Harriet's mother. But he couldn't be any more precise now.

**April: I'm so sorry Jackson. I didn't mean to upset you. I didn't know. Just imagine I'm giving you a hug.**

**Jackson: Didn't know what? That you're the most important person in my life? Then remember it from here on out. You are.**

I don't know what to say to this. This has gotten way too deep way too fast. I can feel myself on the verge of hyperventilating. Where is all of this coming from all of a sudden? The bubbles appear again before I have a chance to say anything back.

**Jackson: And you can give me a hug yourself. When you cancel the stupid hotel room.**

Exhaling my breath on a strained chuckle, I reply back with the only thing I can think of.

**April: Maybe. And Jackson, I love you too.**

The next few hours are uneventful as I finish up my paperwork at the clinic and get everything ready for the person that has taken over for me full time. They started this week and are doing great. I'm still going to be working on a volunteer basis, but I won't have a desk or have to handle the administrative side of things anymore. I'm going to miss working at the clinic on a regular basis. It was good for me at a time where I felt like nothing outside of Harriet would ever be right again. But surgery is where I belong, and I'm at peace about moving on.

It's coming up on noon, and if I want to be able to pick Harriet up on time today, I need to get heading to the hospital.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the spamming continues....

**Chapter Thirty**

**Jackson**

Its liposuction day, and I hate it. I know I'm technically a plastic surgeon, and it's a core part of what most plastic surgeons do, but it's one of my least favorite things in the world. I wouldn't do it at all except for my department is one of the few that has several secure income generating procedures, and this is one of them. If I want to build faces pro-bono, then I have to suck fat for cash. It's mindless, brain-numbing work. The only good thing is it does allow my mind to wander, and boy do I have things to wander to.

This morning was hot. It's embarrassing and unbecoming, and I loved every freaking second of it. Watching Ellabeth freak out afterward and say it was the last time was just the icing on the cake.

She's already mine, and she doesn't even know it yet.

We can play this game if she wants to, for a little while, but I'm not waiting until she's standing up at the altar with someone else before I make my move again. The first time I lost her, well, I think that was both of our faults. The last time, that was on me. But now that I have my chance again, I'm not wasting it. I'll deal with the fallout later. 

Checking my phone after my scrub out, I'm bummed to see that April hasn't texted me since our last interaction. I don't know what her plans are for today, since we haven't had a chance to really talk in a few days, and I want to know what she's doing. I like knowing where she is at any given moment in time.

Not because I'm a controlling asshole like Matthew apparently was, but just because it makes me feel good that she loves me enough to tell me about her day. 

The text messages this morning had been a stroke of genius on my part. I thought of it in the elevator on the way down to the garage. Things with April work best when we're brutally honest with each other.

Assuming we know what the other is thinking, or that the other knows how we're feeling, has only gotten us into trouble in the past.

So I decided I need to make sure she knows what I'm thinking. And what I'm thinking is I need her in my life, in my house, and preferably in my bed, though the couch will work just fine for the time being. 

When I sent the first text, I was watching for her reaction out of my rearview mirror, and she didn't disappoint me at all. My phone automatically syncs to my car via the Bluetooth, so I was able to keep sending her texts even while driving to work. I purposefully didn't mention what happened this morning. I can't risk her thinking that I'm only interested in sex or using that as an excuse for either of us to run away again.

A small part of me warns that I should really pull it back some, cool it down. I only broke up with Maggie yesterday, and technically April is still married. But I'm afraid that if I don't move fast, I'll miss my chance. I'm deathly afraid that if I let her leave my house, I won't be able to get her back in it again.

When she tried to joke about having a home birth, it felt like an icicle had been shot through my heart.

Is it possible she really doesn't know what she means to me?

That's my fault. That's one of those moments that if I had handled it differently, we wouldn't be here right now. We'd be living in the house in the suburbs with 2.5 kids. I should have made sure Ellabeth knew the minute she woke up after that delivery what she meant to me; that if she died, I would have died too.

*****

Liposuction procedures are done in the outpatient surgery section of the hospital, so I haven't seen anybody today outside of Alex and my resident and intern. I think the only reason he sought me out is that if he complained to Meredith about Jo still working every day with her due date so close to hand, Meredith is likely to hit him.

Then Alex being Alex, he'd have to bring up what happened when Mer worked all the way up until she gave birth, and poor Alex would end up losing his primary support system seconds before his wife was due to give birth. Or Jo would lose her husband because Meredith put him in the hospital.

Either way, his complaining to the girls wouldn't work out well for him today. Come to think of it, I can't think of one Grey Sloan doctor whose birth went the way it was supposed to. God and plans and all that. Maybe Jo has the right idea by staying at the hospital.

As I walk towards my office, I pull my phone out again and send April another text.

**Jackson: Done for the morning. What are you doing?**

It takes mere seconds to get a response back from her. I wonder if she was waiting for me.

**April: Talking with Bailey and Owen about this year's interns.**

**Did you need something?**

**Jackson: Where?**

**April: Where do you think Jackson? In my office. I'm busy. Go bother someone else <3 **

I can't help but notice that's the second heart she's sent me today. So she's here in the hospital, is she? With a quick glance at the time to see I have over an hour until I have to meet with my next pre-op, I turn on my heel and head to the elevators. Three minutes later I'm leaning in the door of her office, arms over my chest and legs crossed at the ankles.

"Avery? Did you need something?" Bailey looks at me with irritation in her voice, but Owen gives me a knowing smile.

"No," says April, sounding resigned. "He's suffering from a touch of PTSD I think. Or as I like to refer to it in my head, a case of OCD Where's April Syndrome. Ever since the shooting he has this fetish about knowing where I'm at. He wouldn't even let me go pee by myself for days after. It was endearing at first. Now it's getting annoying." 

Where's April Syndrome? There was definitely some annoyance in her tone, but there was a decent amount of amusement in it too. I decide to push my luck.

"Well, seeing as the last time you wandered through our doors without prior warning, it was in an ambulance with a gunshot wound, I think I can be excused for liking to know your whereabouts. To make it even, I'd be happy to let you know mine 24/7. Maybe we should join phone plans again, and you can use the GPS locator."

I see Owen and Bailey looking between us and each other out of the corner of my eye, but I don't turn my attention away from Ellabeth.

"How about you just shoot me with a tracking dart and be done with it."

Giving her a smirk, I reply, "Nah, no need to mar that beautiful skin more than it already has been. A simple rundown of the day's activities should be enough, thank you."

"Wait, are you two living together again?"

"Yes." 

"No."

We both answer simultaneously, trying to beat the other to the quick. I just lift my eyebrow at her and smile wider.

"Umm, I think I have a page. Owen, didn't you have a patient you needed to check in on?"

"Yes. Yes, I did. Actually, I wanted to go say hi to the kids in daycare.

Want to join me?"

"Excellent idea. I love children." With one last glance between the two of us, they leave whispering to each other. I go into the office to take over one of the chairs they just vacated. 

"Dammit Jackson, you can't just do that!"

"What?"

She gets up from her desk and walks around to shut her office door. I get my hopes up for just a second, thinking maybe she's closing the door so that we could get better reacquainted in the hospital, but it's quickly apparent she shut it just to better yell at me in private. All the blinds are still open into the room.

"Brazenly flirt with me in front of people like that." 

"Come on, it's just Bailey and Owen. If anybody knows about being in love with your best friend, it's those two. Besides, Owen is the least gossipy person I know, and he loves you like a daughter or a sister. If he hears one person talking about you in a way that he feels is inappropriate he'll shut it down so fast their heads will spin. Or their heads really will spin because he'll punch them. His temper hasn't improved since, well ever. And you flirted right back, thank you very much."

"But Owen lives with Teddy who works with Maggie. And you still haven't told me what happened there. And love? Who said we're in love? You're. It's just. You're—" 

Her rambling has turned into stupefied stuttering, and it's maybe the best reaction I could have asked for. I know I've won this round. Her hands are gesticulating at her sides, and it's all just so damn cute it's almost unbearable. April will fight a person with the very last breath in her body when she thinks she's right. When she stops, you know you've got her. And she didn't put up any fight at all did she? I better get while the getting's good. I stand up from the chair and pull my phone from my pocket.

"Fine, I'm leaving. I'll call maman, see if she wants Harriet tonight. They’re heading back to Boston next week anyway, so I know they'll want to see her. Wait for me, I should be done by six. Feel free to visit me upstairs. It's Lipo day."

Resisting the urge to kiss the bewildered look off of her face, I dial my mom and head out of her office. Before I hit the surgery floor, I send her one more text.

**Jackson: Mom will pick H up from school. Go find a surgery to scrub in on, you'll feel better. See you tonight.**

I pocket my phone before she can respond, and get ready for my next procedure. I have the rest of the afternoon to plan out my next attack.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to keep posting. Maybe I'll post the whole thing tonight. Then no one can say I haven't finished the story anymore lol.

**Chapter Thirty One**

**April**

In the end, I did what Jackson wanted. Because in the end, don't I always?

I canceled the stupid hotel room and fought with them over the cancellation fee. Yes, it's within twenty-four hours, but I only booked it within twenty-four hours, so I don't think that it should count. And I can't complain to Jackson about it because he'll just remind me, again, that he can afford it and that will only make me more irritated. He may be rich, but I am not. Even if I was, which I'm not, I'm not going to stay that way by paying ridiculous hotel cancellation fees.

I figure now is as good a time as any to really get back to work. My contract is signed. My salary is set. It's not going to matter if I start today or Monday. Heading upstairs to the lounge, it brings a smile to my face to see that they gave me my same locker back. I have a hard time believing that it's been empty for this long and wonder who they kicked out to provide me with my original spot. It's nice to see my name in between Karev and Avery. I change into a pair of scrubs and grab the coat that's already hanging in my locker for me.

I don't talk to Teddy or Owen before I grab a patient chart, just jump right back in like I'd never left. It's my department now anyway. That stops me for a minute. The ED is mine, and the title on my lap coat confirms it. I'm not just running it on behalf of another person anymore.

Chief.

Still, as head of the ED, my position is different from my friends. Theirs is all surgery all the time unless they are doing research. I've barely done any research. I probably never will. I'm a hands-on physician in ways that the others aren't, treating everything from the common cold to penetrating trauma. I've done several papers on trauma protocols, so maybe I should talk to Alex about running some sort of trial on emergency medicine.

I get my first trauma at the same time we get a probable appendectomy, so I page for a general surgery consult and handle the injury myself. 

Motor Vehicle Accident, visible cuts, and abrasions bleeding in the belly. Just need to wait for the rush labs, and up to the OR, he goes. But to my surprise, instead of Meredith, I get both Dr. Bailey and Dr. Webber into the emergency department, trailing a team of residents and interns.

I excuse myself from the patient, telling the nurse to call me if anything changes and head into the main area to meet them halfway.

"Where's Mer?"

"What's wrong with us? Dr. Webber and I aren't good enough for you?"

Despite the fact that she was trying to be, well I don't know what she's trying to be, her brash tone brings a smile to my face. It's so good to be back.

"Of course you are. I just wasn't expecting both of you, that's all. Bed four has a probable appy. Micha here was in an MVC, bleeding in his belly. Labs have been run, and pain meds were given. We're just waiting on the cross and match. If you don't mind, I'd actually prefer to take the appy upstairs instead of the MVC. Both are cases for General, but it's been a while since I performed an appendectomy and would like to get my feet wet. Basics and all that."

"Good to have you back Kepner. That's what we've been missing around here. Someone concerned with making sure we're built on a firm foundation. I'll take the MVC."

With that, Dr. Webber pats me on the back and heads back into the trauma room to introduce himself to the patient.

"I guess that leaves you and me with the appy."

"Both of us? It's hardly a procedure that takes two attendings."

"So, it's just me you have a problem with and not Dr. Webber, huh?" If she's trying to make me feel like an intern, she's succeeding. But I hear Catherine in my head laughing at me telling me not to let her see me sweat, and I rally.

"Dr. Bailey, would you care to join me with this patient? As it has been some time since I performed an appendectomy, I would love some pointers from the master."

"That's more like it," she says, and I follow her into the patient's room.

*****

Less than an hour later we're scrubbed and doing a laparoscopic appendectomy together. It was smart of me to take the smaller of the

surgeries. As backward as it sounds, I worry about the more straightforward procedures more than I do the harder ones. I've watched hundreds of hours of tapes and done continuing education credits for trauma certifications over the last few years, but I can't remember the last time I thought about something as simple as an appendectomy.

Dr. Webber is right in that regard, the basics are often overlooked by established surgeons once we pick our specialties.

I'm concentrating on what I'm doing and trying not to embarrass myself in front of Dr. Bailey, so I almost miss it when she starts talking halfway through the procedure about something other than laparoscopic techniques.

"I hear that you and Matthew are getting divorced."

"Wow, word travels fast."

"You should know that by now. You can sneeze on floor four, and the interns will know about it on level three by the end of the day. "

"Yes, well, it's not something I'm particularly proud of. I would never have imagined ten years ago that I would be a two-time divorcee. But Matthew and I couldn't see eye to eye about where I wanted my career to go, and well…"

"You don't need to explain yourself to me. I get it. That's one of the reasons why my first marriage struggled so often; he couldn't handle his wife being a surgeon. Men are weak. Notice the ladies well outnumber the men in this hospital? That's because men are fragile, and in turn, they can't handle it when you aren't. Next time make sure the man you marry can handle a strong woman. I recommend a firefighter."

There's a smirk in her voice, and her voice has taken on a sassy sort of tone. I do notice that outside of the intern, who looks noticeably uncomfortable, every other person in this room is, in fact, a woman.

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'm done with all of that. One failed marriage? Well, maybe that could have been chalked up to, to what happened to us. But two failed marriages? The only common denominator here is me. I think I've proven that I'm not cut out for wedded bliss."

"Who's talking about wedded bliss? I'm talking about spending a little time with another human being. Outside of this hospital, of course. I don't want your extracurricular activities in the on-call rooms."

That's funny coming from Booty Call Bailey, but best to keep that thought to myself.

When my pager goes off, one of the scrub nurses whose name I don't know asks me if I want her to read it out for me. With the way my texts have been today, I'd better not.

"If you could just check it for me, that would be great. Unless it says something about my daughter Harriet, we can ignore it. The passcode is 9721."

She picks it up off of the tray where all our phones sit and read the message.

"It does mention Harriet, Dr. Kepner.”

"What's it say?"

"It's from Dr. Avery. It says ‘Maman wants Harriet for the night. She will take her to school tomorrow. Last surgery canceled. I'll meet you in the lounge. It's nice to see your name on the board again.'"

Great.

Nice to see my name?

Just yesterday he was giving me a hard time for coming in. I feel the blush color my skin, but I'm not really sure why. There was nothing inappropriate about the message. We do share a child after all. It makes sense for me to get news about her whereabouts for the evening. The only thing that could be considered weird is the fact that Jackson said he'd be waiting for me.

Avoiding Bailey’s eyes, which are now watching me with interest, I ask the nurse if she'll text Jackson back to tell him I have my own car and that I will just see him later.

Even though she likes to show this tough, gruff exterior, Bailey is one of the biggest gossip hounds in the place. If she senses my discomfort, she'll be on me like a dog with a bone.

After giving post-op instructions to the resident in charge, I pull my scrub cap off and fall into step besides Bailey. It's the one that Jackson gave to me on the day of the shooting as I still haven't gotten all of mine out of storage yet.

I'll have to add that to my list for this weekend.

"Are you going to come in tomorrow too? I know you weren't supposed to be on the schedule until next week, but I've seen your name on the surgery board twice now."

"I don't know, to be honest. Both days I came in to get a handle on the paperwork side of things so that I could jump right into the medicine when I started back full time, and both times I got sucked into a surgery."

"Well, it is good to have you back. Just don't jump in over your head.

You've had a lot going on. Take it easy still."

And that's as close to an _I missed you_ as I'm going to get.

"Thanks, Boss."

The title gets me a nod of approval, and we part ways as she goes off to do whatever, and I head towards the attendings’ lounge.

Jackson is sitting there, just like he said he'd be, nose buried in his phone. He looks up and smiles at me when I come in but doesn't try to engage me in conversation. I'm relieved. I wish he'd just gone home as I asked him to. I'm all twisted up over what is going on in his head. I can't do this again.

I _really_ cannot do this again.

"Jackson, what are you doing? I have my own car here. I have my own keys to your apartment. I'm more than capable of finding my way home. Besides, I had plans for tonight. You know that. Now that Mom has Harriet that just makes it even easier for me."

The smile falls from Jackson's face, and he takes his hands and scrubs them over it. I hate to see that expression of frustration, but I have to protect myself. I don't know how I let him talk me into canceling my reservation, but that's precisely where I'm headed as soon as I get my stuff from his place.

"Look. We have the evening to ourselves. Just give me tonight. Let's get some Mexican, open a beer, and if you still want to after we talk, you can move to the hotel. One evening. That's all I'm asking for."

"Talk?"

I hate the fact that he can affect me this way. Already I can feel the butterflies in my belly and my pulse kicking up a notch. He's nodding his head at my question and stands up to grab his bag.

"Talk. Mexican okay? I'll meet you at home. Open a beer for me if you beat me there."

He steps up into my personal space and places a kiss on my forehead, and I _hate_ the fact that my eyes close automatically in response to his touch. He's out the door before I have a chance to say anything else.

One dinner. I can handle that. Then I'm outta there.

I swing by my office on the way out of the building and see my inbox is already starting to fill with vacation requests and supply forms for signatures. It's comforting, in a way. No matter what sort of turmoil is going on in your life, the paperwork is one thing that will never change.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For you Clementine

**Chapter Thirty Two**

**Jackson**

**I Apologize, Five Finger Death Punch**

"Tell me what happened with you and Matthew?"

We're sitting in the kitchen, at the big island countertop where we eat almost every meal, but it’s different now with just the two of us here. We're chit-chatting while eating our food, talking about what happened today at the hospital, but our thoughts are mostly in our own heads.

There's a tension vibrating between us that I can't quite pinpoint.

I know what's on my side: nerves, excitement, fear, and desire. I knew that Harriet acted as a buffer between us more and more lately, but I didn't realize to what extent until she wasn't here.

It's practically sparking in here.

It doesn't help that memories from this morning keep trying to push to the front of my mind. I can tell that asking her about Matthew is not where she thought this evening was heading.

"What do you mean what happened? You were there. You saw what happened."

"No, I saw the end result of what happened. The fallout, as it were. The April I know, _my_ Ellabeth, would never have lain down and played dead as you did. You would have torn into him and defended yourself to the brink, just like you have every single time I've tried to tell you how incredibly mad I am at you for your actions that day. See, already you're getting ready to fight back."

She is. Her color has increased, and I see the fire lit behind her eyes. But then she gives herself a little shake and seems to settle back into her skin some. I take a bite of my food and indicate for her to go on. We have all night to sit here if that's what it takes.

"Well, it's nothing big if that's what you're thinking. He didn't neglect me or abuse me."

The thought of abuse hadn't even entered my mind, and now that she's mentioned it, it sends a spark of anger through me. If he had hurt her, I'd kill him with my bare hands. Or maybe take Karev and Owen with me.

"You knew that before we were going to get married, we took pre-marriage counseling through our church, right?" I nod in acknowledgment, barely remembering her mentioning it before.

"When we took that test, it told us that we had a ninety-eight percent compatibility rating or something like that. At the time, I thought that that was fantastic. We were perfect for each other. We had the same faith; we wanted the same things out of life. Little did I know how wrong that was.

“Wrong maybe isn't the right word, but boring is the only other word I can think of, and that doesn't sound right either. Bland. Everything with Matthew was bland. But that wasn't it either. A lot of people live bland lives."

She takes a swig of her beer, and I do the same, giving her a chance to get her thoughts in order.

"I knew, almost instantly, that I had made a mistake. He needed bland. He'd had a docile housewife and wanted one again. And more and more, I found myself craving fire and passion. The only other relationship that I'd ever really had," and here she points a finger between her and me, "We were a lot of things, but bland was never one of them."

I can't help the laugh that escapes me at that. Truer words were never spoken.

"Our views on religion were different. I've fought hard for my relationship with God. Feeling His presence in my life, it was a choice that I made every day now. After everything that I've been through, I made a choice to walk with God. But I had no need to flaunt that around. Matthew just took it for granted. He thought that going to church every week was how you believed in God. That's not how I saw it anymore. 

“He wanted to move to be closer to his family, and to be honest, to get away from the memories of you and us. I can't blame him for that, not really. But there was no way that I could have ever done that. I knew that the memories of you and me haunted him, but I got tired of telling him over, and over that, I was in _his_ bed now. 

“I know that I'd said that we knew each other's pain, and that brought us together. But come to find out, we had two completely separate sorts of aches. He lost his wife, and that's a pain that's hard to recover from. He'd loved her more than he loved me, and that's all right. I was okay with that because I knew that I was here and she wasn't, God bless her. But I lost my son, and in the process of that, I also lost my husband and my best friend. Always in his mind I think, he knew that my husband was still out there."

I start to protest, to apologize, to say something that eases the sad smile on her face, but she puts her hand up to stop me. I feel desolate and naked hearing her talk so plainly about what happened to us after Samuel died. After all of this time, I don't think we've ever talked about it like this.

"It's okay Jackson. It is. It's the truth. We lost Samuel, and because of that, you and I lost each other. Samuel was more than just my child, he was a part of me, and it broke me in a way to lose that part. I think after all of these years we've made peace with that. Or at least I hope we have. We’ve both spent too long blaming each other.

“You're right again about the divorce thing. I still believe in the sanctity of marriage. But I never regretted marrying you, and I've regretted marrying Matthew almost from the minute I did it. I did fight you kicking and screaming. Since we're laying it all out on the table, the thought of divorcing you still makes me cringe. A tiny part of me will always hate you for making me do it. But Matthew, Matthew isn't you."

"A more than tiny part of me will always hate myself, too."

I reach my hand out across the counter from her, and she takes it in her own, giving it a hard squeeze. She's got a slight case of the sniffles, and I release her hand to catch a tear slipping down her face. After clearing her throat, she starts the conversation again.

"So, what happened with Maggie?" That's simple.

"She wasn't you."

"Jackson." 

She sounds exasperated, and I guess she has a point. She did just bare her soul to me.

"What happened to me and Maggie goes back way before there even was Maggie. That's my fault. You know I'm not very good at talking about my feelings. Hell, I'm not even very good at identifying the feelings I'm having right now." 

She gives me a small smile, and I know she feels the truth of my words. In an echo of my thoughts from just minutes before she says, "We have all night."

I swallow the rest of my beer then get up to grab us both another.

"Liquid courage," I say, popping the tops off of the bottles and handing hers to her. We clink the bottles together, and I take another long draw before I sit back down and tell my truth.

"I never talked to you about the night that Harriet was born."

I can see the surprise on her face and imagine it must look a lot like it did when I mentioned it this morning while we were texting.

"I remember being in surgery. My phone went off, but I didn’t hear it. I was almost done anyway, minutes from the final stitch, and it could wait. I figured if it was important, they'd call back." 

I didn't realize of course that she was bleeding out, she was dying, and she couldn't call back. It never occurred to me until just this minute that of all the people she could have called when she thought it was going to be her last call, she called me.

"I didn't check my voicemail until after I'd already scrubbed out. When Bailey busted into my surgery to get me? Oh, God, Ellabeth. I was sick and dizzy; the world was spinning around me. 

“All I could think of was, “I love her”. I love you. I love you, and I love you, and I hear you telling them to let you die. When you let out that scream…Jesus April. It wasn't even a scream, really. The sound you made when he was cutting into your body? It was horrific. I still have nightmares about it. Then it went silent.”

I have to clear my throat, to push the emotion away so I can speak.

“All of a sudden, I'm begging for the screaming to start again because at least I know that you're alive that way. We could have more children, but I love you, and I thought I was listening to you die." 

I take another slug of my beer, but it's coming more natural now. I should have talked to her about this years ago.

"I love Harriet. Shee's our flesh and our blood, our love made real. But at that time, she was just an abstract thought, a possibility, and not a reality. She didn't even have a name. And I'm stuck in that stupid hospital, listening to you asking them to do this horrible thing for you. To save the baby, and to let you die."

I close my eyes, and the memory plays before my eyes.

“Bailey and I were waiting outside when the ambulance showed up. You were on the gurney with the tube down your throat. Empty when the last time I saw you, you were filled with life. Still, I could do nothing to help you except push that damn gurney as fast as my legs could carry me. Arizona was already scrubbed and waiting for you.

Thank God you'd started to clot. Otherwise, I don't think you would have made it. I tried to come in, but they kicked me out of course. All I could do was pace outside of the OR doors. It was a little better, when they put Harriet in my arms. But not much. I was holding her, when I wanted to be holding you.”

While telling her this, I've been looking down at the table, at my bottle, anywhere really but her. I finally look up into her eyes.

"I should have told you then. Only I'd hurt you so much with the divorce. I remember what you said about not wanting to be with me because of the baby, so I didn't say anything. I was afraid that you would think it _was_ just because of the baby. Then, after a few days and everything had settled down, I convinced myself that it was just a reaction to a high-stress situation.

“That, _of course_ , I love you, you're Harriet's mother and my oldest friend, but we weren't together anymore, and I wasn't supposed to have feelings for you like that. Then, well, everything else happened." 

I can't read her expression. It's guarded and sad, but maybe just slightly hopeful as well. All I can do is power on.

"It was really after your accident that things fell into place, or fell apart for me, depending on how you look at it. Once again, there you were on that table. Except for this time, you were dead. I don't care how you want to rationalize it in your mind, April, what kind of science and medicine you want to use to gloss it over, but the fact remains that you were dead.

“No pulse, no brain activity. If you had died giving birth to Harriet, at least I could try to rationalize it that you had given your life for her. What parent wouldn't give their life for their child's? But this was just so pointless. So senseless. They had to restrain me in the OR, did anybody ever tell you that?"

She's got tears slowly streaming down her face by this point, and she doesn't attempt to answer me with words, just shakes her head.

"I found out in the hallway. I was in surgery when they brought you in, so the bastards didn’t tell me about it. If we were together as we should have been, I'd have known something was wrong straight off. I knew you were volunteering, but it didn't raise any red flags when they came asking me if I knew where you were at. I should have known.”

I’m still so angry with myself.

“If I'd had known where and who you were with, you wouldn’t have been in that accident. Or maybe you would have been, but you'd have called me when you left the clinic, and so I would have known something was wrong when you didn’t show up where you were supposed to be.

“I'm getting off point. I had just left my OR, and I heard one of the residents arguing over blood. For you. When I barged into the operating suite—half of the OR staff was squeezed into that room with you. Owen had just told them to stop compressions, and I thought that he had just signed your death certificate. I started yelling and pushing my way to you. I may have punched an intern, or maybe it was Alex, I'm not sure. 

“They told me that they were putting you on bypass and so all I could do, again, was sit by your side and wait. Every hit of the paddles against your skin when they were bringing you back into v-tach, I felt in my own body. At one point, I begged them to stop. 

“I couldn't stand to see you treated to such violence when it was evident that you were gone, but Meredith and Alex held me still while they hit you with the electricity again and again."

At this, she pushes up from her chair and comes to me. I know her better than I know myself. She's never been able to see me hurting without offering comfort, and I gladly open my arms for her as she settles herself onto my lap and into my arms. It's more comfortable like this. Talking about her dying when I feel her warm and healthy in my arms is easier to handle.

"I didn't know at that time that you'd been seeing Matthew. When Arizona told us that you guys were together, I felt all the air leave my lungs. If I'd been standing, I'd have probably fallen. How could you have been seeing someone else when you were supposed to be mine? Holding your hand, begging and praying for you to wake up. 

“All I could think was that I couldn't lose my person, my other half. I should have climbed into the bed with you right then and refused to leave your side ever again. But Arizona said that you were in love, and I loved you enough not to mess that up for you."

Sitting on my lap makes her much taller than she is typically, and I can easily lay my head against her chest and shoulder. She's running her fingers through my curls, longer then when we were ever together like this, and the touch is soothing to both the body and the mind.

"You remember those few weeks after your accident?"

"I do. It was nice, talking to you like that again. Like we were best friends. I missed you."

"That was it. You are my best friend. The person I love more than anything on this earth. And when I finally realized that, you'd moved on.

“I tried to make peace with the fact that you were never to be in my arms again. I realized that there were different types of love, and you were the love of my life. But I loved Maggie too, and I could be happy with her."

"Settling," I hear her say as if to herself, and it's the perfect description of what we've both been doing these last few years.

"But then Ellabeth, mother of my children and my own personal soulmate, walks into my hospital looking like some sort of avenging angel. Then, twenty-four hours later leaves her husband all from the comfort of my living room couch and I have to say ‘Okay God, I get the hint. I'm sorry it took me so long’. 

“So, that, and everyone basically told me to get my head out of my ass.

That's what happened with Maggie."

She wraps both of her hands around my face and pulls my head up to look at her. It's such a familiar touch that it makes me melt some. All of the nerves are gone, and I feel absolute peace for the first time in ages.

"Jackson Avery, are you trying to tell me that you think it’s God’s will that we be together?"

"Yeah, I guess I am."

With that, she kisses me.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *****SMUT WARNING!!!
> 
> (very good smut lol)

**Chapter Thirty Three**

**April**

**It’s All Coming Back to Me — Celine Dion**

I can’t tell whether he’s breaking my heart or putting it back together. He starts out shaky, stopping, and starting. But by the end of his tale, he sounds almost serene. _These are the facts_ , his voice says. _This is my truth, and my truth is that I love you_. Tears are dripping down my face, but I make no move to prevent or hide them. I think back to that day with the accident. Waking up to seeing him crying over me, holding my hand so tight it was almost painful. How warm his hands were against my smaller one.

I’d been hearing him for a while I think, without really processing what was going on.

When I came to enough to realize what I was hearing, the anguish and tears laced through his words, I wanted nothing more than to pull him into my arms and make his pain go away. I’ve always secretly thought that I woke up, not just because of everything my friends and family did to bring me back, but because I can’t be that close to Jackson and not respond to his words. He told me to come back to him, and I did.

I’m embarrassed to admit that it wasn’t until much later that I even thought about Matthew. If he’d told me then what he’s telling me now, our lives would be so very different today. 

When I wrap my hands around his face, the feel of his beard is both scratchy and soft in my palms, and I itch to run my fingers through it. Trying not to kiss him right now would be like trying not to breathe, you can only hold out so long before it becomes impossible. Better to succumb right away before you end up on the floor panting. The passion and electricity that’s always between us is there, but this time it seems to be tempered with something else. Our kiss is slow and deep, drinking from a well long covered but never emptied, and I think his arms around my back are the only thing keeping me from falling to pieces. 

When I feel the need to either separate or intensify the situation, I slip off of his lap and stand between his legs instead. Standing while he’s sitting like this, we’re almost the same height, and I rest my forehead against him, trying to gather my thoughts. 

Everything I’d ever dreamt of hearing from him, and here he is, saying it all and more. But it’s been years since I’ve had that dream. And mistake or not, the truth of the matter is that I am married to another man, at least legally. I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to do with this information. It feels almost too little too late. I really need some time to process what he’s saying. To come to grips with what’s happening between us again.

“Jackson. I—I don’t know what you want from me.”

He tightens his grip around my waist, trying to preemptively prevent me from running, I think. That’s one of the benefits and pitfalls of knowing a person as intimately as we know each other. How’s a girl supposed to have a good old-fashioned freak out when the boy comes prepared to shut it down before it happens?

Instead, he simply says, “Everything. I want everything from you, April. But for tonight, I’ll be happy with you just not leaving.”

Finally giving in to my desires, I run my fingernails gently through his beard. I love the way his eyes close in pleasure at the sensation. I read a paper once, about the psychology behind Touch Hunger. It’s not just sex, though it often manifests itself that way. The human body craves touch, skin on skin contact. Some people get so starved for it that they will accept inappropriate touching just to satisfy the craving. Children given regular physical affection while growing up are proven to have lower aggression levels and higher test scores. Frequent physical contact from a person you love, from everything as simple as a hug and handholding, is proven to reduce your heart rate and blood pressure. Your brain activity increases, and your stress levels decrease.

I wonder if he’s been as hungry for my touch these past few years as I have been for his, but I think the obvious answer to that is yes. It’s just going to take me some time to wrap my head around this.

“I already canceled my hotel reservations. This afternoon, almost as soon as you left my office.”

His answering smile is both smug and beautiful, and I can’t help but respond with a smile of my own.

“Thank you, although if you’d had tried to go, I would have just followed you there.”

He tightens his grip on my hips and pulls me in tight against him, placing gentle kisses on the parts of my hand and arm he can reach by merely moving his face. I take my hands off of his face and move them to the back of his head and neck, raking my nails there the way I know he likes it, with more force and purpose to my motions. His kisses move to my throat as well, and I let a little ‘hmmm’ escape from between my lips.

“Funny, I was just thinking about our track record in kitchens.”

That’s what finally breaks the dam. His motions become tight and firm instead of soft and languid, and the intensity levels radiating from his person are enough to set my entire body on edge.

He stands up abruptly, the force of his motions pushing the barstool over onto its side. Squatting slightly to wrap his hands around my thighs, he picks me up and places me on the countertop, all thoughts of our earlier food and drinks forgotten.

It’s been so long since I’ve been touched like this. Rough and with purpose. My whole body is tingling and on fire. He’s always known me better than I know myself. He can read my body’s wants and needs better than I could ever dictate them to him with words.

He wraps his hand in my hair and pulls my head back to look at him. The sting of the force of his actions makes my toes curl, and the eye contact that he gives me is more intimate than the actual act of sex, and I feel it down to my core. The tension is coiling in my belly as if he’s been rubbing on my clit for hours rather than just looking me in the eye.

I feel like I’m drunk, gloriously free, even though I’ve barely had a drop of alcohol. It’s purely my body’s reaction to Jackson. It’s been this way between us since the first time he kissed me in that club. He simply needs to enter a room for my body to tighten and ache for the touch of his. No matter how many men have come after him, he’s always been the standard that the others have been held to, and they’ve all failed spectacularly. 

I close my eyes and part my lips, ready to accept his mouth onto mine, but he tightens his hold in my hair and pulls my chin up higher, placing his lips on my jawline instead of my mouth. I let out a moan that would be loud and embarrassing if it were anybody else but Jackson’s lips on me and move one hand behind his head to hold him to me, and one hand up under his shirt to run my nails across his chest. 

He licks at me like a cat licking up cream, and it makes all my muscles turn to jelly. 

“God, I fucking love you,” he states hotly against my skin, and my body turns to at the fierceness of his words. Scooping me up with his hands placed firmly under my ass, he carries me up the stairs and into his bedroom, without his mouth ever breaking contact with my skin.

Dropping me onto the bed, he reaches over his head to pull his shirt up and off his body. Why is it that only men take their shirts off that way? And why is it so fucking sexy?

Crawling to the edge of the bed, I sit back on my heels and pull Jackson closer to the bed by his belt buckle. Undoing the clasp, I pull it out of his pants and snap it in my hands. His body reacts as if I had hit him with it, pulling taught and hard, and its reaction turns me on a notch higher.

Unbuttoning the snap and pulling down the zipper, I help push his pants to his knees and watch with anticipation as he bends over to pull them off of his feet, one leg after the other, never breaking eye contact from me. He should have just taken his boxer briefs off with his pants, but I know why he kept them on. He knows he looks good, and he’s getting off on my getting off on his body. The color of his underwear bleeds into the color of his skin beautifully. The tightness of the material forms to his rock hard ass and thighs and cock just enough to tease me with what I’m not seeing, and I let out a little whine and reach for him. With a cocky ass smile I’m looking forward to removing from his face, he pushes the last bit of clothing down his legs and lets them fall on the pile with his pants. I tug my own shirt up and over my head, dropping it who knows where, and reach for him with both hands. With one hand on his hip and one hand on his dick, I pull him back to the edge of the bed then wrap my mouth around his cock. The hiss of his breath as he draws air into his lungs sends a pure shot of lust to my core, and I move my hand from his cock to his balls and take him back as deep as I can, hollowing my lips to make it as tight as possible as I pull myself back off.

I know this man better than anyone, in every way possible. Unlatching from his cock, I push it up towards his belly then bend my head down to take his balls into my mouth, slowly stroking his dick. 

After lathering each for a minute, I flatten my tongue against the bottom and lick him from his base to the tip. From the _Jesus Christ_ that he moans out like a prayer, I feel confident that that’s the first time he’s felt that particular stimulation since I last did it to him. It only takes a few minutes before he’s wound up tighter than a corkscrew. I always had a sense of pride with the reactions I could get out of Jackson.

Seeing as he was my first, I didn’t have any point of reference before, but now that I have a little more experience under my belt, I know for a fact that what Jackson and I share is something special. I still don’t know if it’s him or me or some combination thereof, but I know that I never had this same sense of satisfaction bringing a man to his peak with anybody else. The more I suck his dick, running my fingernails up and down his inner thighs and play with his balls, the hornier I get, and the hornier I get, the wilder I become sucking his dick. It’s a vicious circle, and I love it. I can feel his balls pull up high, and his cock is swollen so tight I can feel the tension pulled tight against his skin. Just as I open my mouth to take him back and swallow him down, he wraps his hand into my hair and pulls me back.

“No.”

Bewildered, I ask, “Why not?”

“Because the next time I come, it’s going to be inside of you.”

Holy shit.

He wraps one arm around my middle and hauls me up off of the bed, placing me on my feet on the floor. With both of his hands on my face, he kisses me deeply, licking the inside of my mouth and pulling off of me just enough to take my lower lip in his teeth and tug. In a normal situation, it would be painful. But I’m hyped up so high that the stimulation is almost enough to bring me to orgasm just like that. With the hands born of years of surgical training, he reaches behind me with one hand and unclasps my bra, pulling it off with a slow seduction that differs from the intense ferocity of his mouth on me. 

I arch up into him, expecting him to take each of my breasts in his gloriously big hands, but instead, he just skims over them with the lightest of touches, bringing goosebumps to my flesh and making my nipples pucker so hard they ache. He brings his hands down to my pants to unbutton my jeans and start to push them down my hips. 

I try to help him by lifting my legs and pushing them down with my feet, but I’m the first to admit my coordination is less than perfect at the moment. I let out a little moan of frustration, and Jackson laughs, taking pity on me and lifting me up again, using one arm to hold me up and the other to pull my pants all the way off and leaving them in a puddle on the floor. Once again, I’m amazed at the strength contained in his lithe form. 

Finally, when I’m wearing nothing but my panties, he turns his attention to my breasts. I can do nothing but moan out my appreciation and thanks, placing one hand on his shoulder and one on the back of his head, to steady myself rather than hold him there. 

Sucking one of my nipples between his lips, he takes as much of my breast into his mouth as he can, lavishing it with his tongue and lips, again pulling it taut between his teeth when he pulls away. Palming the breast he just left to ease the sting, Jackson repeats the process with the other one. I’m not sure where all the biting and hair pulling has come from all. I mean sure, it’s not something we’d ever shied away from before. There wasn’t anything we ever shied away from. But there seems to be a specific ferocity to us tonight, with the phrase marking our territory coming to mind. And I know, without the need to look into a mirror, that we will indeed be marked tomorrow for all to see. Claimed, once and for all.

With one swift move, he drops to his knees in front of me and yanks my panties down to my ankles. One push is all it takes to knock me backward onto the bed, and he walks on his knees the few feet to the edge of the bed, taking each of my ankles in hand and placing them where he wants on the side of the mattress and grabbing me by the thighs and pulling my ass so that it is almost even with my feet. Raising up on my elbows, I stare down at him and watch as he gives me a cocky ass grin. He places his hands on my upper inner thighs pushing them open as far as they’ll go, fingers close enough to tease my sex but not close enough that I can do anything about it in the open and helpless position he has me in. 

“I never said anything about you coming when I’m inside you, did I?” He has complete control with me in this position, and we both know it. That’s okay. It won’t take long, and we both know that too.

Dipping his head, all the while still maintaining eye contact, he reaches my clit and licks a strip all the way from my ass crack up to the tip, slowly flicking his tongue over that precious bundle of nerves at the top. 

“Oh, sweet Jesus!”

I practically scream out into the silence of the apartment, bunching my hands into the sheets and throwing my head back and forth on the bed, desperately looking for something to anchor me. I feel him laugh with pleasure with his lips wrapped around my clit, and the vibrations almost send me over the edge.

“Not yet, princess,” he says, and pulls away from my core to suck small hickies into my thighs. 

“I hate you,” I whimper out, but that only seems to fuel his satisfaction with himself. I try to move, to bring myself closer to the friction and force that I desperately need to climax, but he has me in such a position that it is almost impossible for me to do more than gyrate in place. I’m spread open and destitute, entirely at his mercy. I hear him suck something into his mouth and push myself up enough to see he’s sucking on two of his own fingers. Pointless, since it will probably look like I’ve wet the bed by the time he gets me off of this spot but fucking hot none the less. Slowly, agonizingly torturously slowly, he pushes the two fingers into my center.

“Jackson!”

This time I am slightly embarrassed by the need laced through my voice. Without any further ado, he ups the pace of his fingers, now flicking them back and forth inside me as well. He takes his other hand off of my thigh and places it onto the tip of my clit, rubbing with one purpose in mind, then puts his mouth onto the curve where my leg turns into pussy and sucks, pushing his teeth just hard enough to leave a mark. Just like that, I’m coming so hard I’m pretty sure I black out for a few moments. By the time I realized what’s happened, I’m in the middle of the bed, and Jackson is kissing me like he needs it to live, lining himself up and pushing surely and slowly into my core. 

I haven’t even begun to come down off of my first orgasm when the second starts to tear through me, and I try to plead for mercy into Jackson’s mouth, wrapping my legs and arms tight around him, trying to use his body to ride out the wave. He doesn’t take pity on me, just speeds up his pace and brings us both home. It takes less than a minute for his pace to speed up and falter, as he moans out my name. I feel him tighten and release in my arms, spilling his seed inside me just like he promised to. 

I hold him to me until my limbs give out the strength to continue doing so, and then they slide uselessly to my side. He leaves me for just a minute, returning momentarily with a washcloth to clean me up. Somewhere in the back of my head, I realize that we just had sex without protection, but it’s Jackson, and I can’t really bring myself to worry too much. I’ve never had sex with anyone but Jackson without a condom, Matthew included, and knowing him the way I do, I feel comfortable enough about it. The sweat coating my body is quickly turning chilly, and Jackson pulls me to him, covering him with the sheet and me with the sheet and the blanket both. He places a sweet kiss on the top of my head, and I think I hear him say I love you, but I can’t tell for sure. Within seconds, my eyes start to drift closed.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trump is going to win, I'm trying not to cry. Here, have a chapter lmao.

**Chapter Thirty Four**

**April**

I only dozed for a few minutes when I come to, awake, and settled into my new skin. I’m still riding the afterglow, snuggled up on my side with my head in Jackson’s shoulder. Right now, at this very moment, I feel like I could stay like this forever. But working with and living with and being in love with Jackson again is one thing. Facing the consequences of those actions is another thing altogether. I’m not ready for the drama that will come with this. I need to get a handle on re-establishing myself in the hospital before I confront the spectacle that Jackson and I going public with, with whatever this is, is going to create.

“When did you start biting your nails? I’ve never seen your hands look like this before.”

The question catches me off guard, and I curl my fingers into my palm. 

“I’m not sure. Recently, I guess. I’m not even aware when I do it. Just a new nervous habit.”

A habit that started the second the bullets started whizzing by my head.

“You seem to have picked up quite a few of those lately. Want to talk about it?”

His voice is soft and sincere, but there is no way in hell I want to talk about my newly acquired taste for my nails. Or the fact that I seem to have a permanent case of the jitters. The fact that I can’t sleep for more than a few hours at a time before waking up with the need to vomit is nobody’s business but my own.

“Do you remember when that couple came into the ED a few years ago that had run away to get married? And then halfway to Vegas they got into a car accident. We had to call their families and try to explain why they were in Seattle together when they were trying to keep their relationship a secret.”

“Deflecting much are we? But yes, I do. They married in the chapel before their families arrived. Are you suggesting that we elope? Because I’m not sure my mother would allow either of us to live through that experience. Yours either. All future weddings must be big and preplanned. Or at least with enough notice for them to be there.

“Though, come to think of it, I am rather fond of the idea myself. But we can give them a few days’ heads up. Maybe not elope per se, but not make a big deal out of it either.”

My pulse rate must have doubled by the time he finished with his little spiel, and I’m afraid he can feel it pounding through my rib cage and into his side. I push up onto my elbow to try to get a better look at him.

“Weddings? What? Who’s talking about weddings? That’s not what I meant at all. You want to get married again?”

I feel like he’s always springing shit on me. I still haven’t recovered from earlier tonight. I can feel his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. But his fingers never stop running through my hair. 

“I feel the same way I’ve always felt. You belong with me forever. I’ve known that since I saw you reading alone in the middle of a keg party. 

“I would have married you again when Harriet was born if I’d had my wits about me. But we were young and stupid, if you can consider your early thirties young. Seeing as surgeons never really leave the high school level of emotional maturity, I think you can. That was my bad. I screwed up there.”

“That’s not the way I remember it. The way I remember it was me freaking out when I realized we were pregnant, me freaking out again when we started fighting about being pregnant and then us threatening to sue each other for custody.”

He chuckles lightly and runs his hand up and down my back.

“You do have a tendency to speak before you think. Like a lot. But no. That was my fault. If you had known how I felt, if I had admitted it to myself, none of that would have ever happened. I’ve made a bad habit of keeping things to myself until something happens that forces it out of me. Then, reasonably enough, you think I’m being forced into it by the circumstances around us. Let’s not make that mistake again.”

I used to pray that Jackson would open up and just tell me what he was thinking. Tell me what he was feeling. Now I wish he would just shut up and keep it to himself a little more. There is a _lot_ of information being tossed at me tonight. The minute I think I’ve started to process something he spits out something new.

“It’s not enough that you’ve made me a divorcee and an adulteress, now you want to make me a bigamist too?”

“You’re not an adulteress. I noticed you took the ring off within the first few days. Call the lawyer in the morning. Hell, call right now and leave a message, send her an email. Have her submit the papers tomorrow. Then you can at least have that off of your conscious. We can go shopping this weekend for some stuff for Ruby, and you’ll have some sort of emergency visitation by the end of next week.”

“That easy, huh? What’s Matthew going to say when the judge asks me where I’m living, and I tell him that I immediately shacked up with my ex-husband?”

God, this is just like us. Bickering minutes after having close to the best sex of my life. Somehow, instead of upsetting me, the thought just makes me happy.

“I don’t give a shit what Matthew says or thinks. The judge will see that even though your husband _abandoned_ you in your time of need, your children will still be living in a stable environment with a two parent household. Everything else we can work out later. I don’t think this is where you were going with your original question, though.” 

Oh. Yeah. I’d completely forgotten about it actually, distracted with thoughts of once again calling Jackson my husband, then of custody battles and divorce court. 

“Yes, well, my original point was that I think we should keep this to ourselves for a while. It would be a little crass to start making out in on-call rooms in front of Maggie while we’re working out everything there is to work out between us. Seriously, you have the worst timing. Just for once, I’d like to not leave a sea of damage in our wake.”

He starts to look angry but deflates as fast as it came. I don’t think he’s stopped touching me since I climbed into his arms in the kitchen, but now he pulls me back on top of him wholly and runs his hands up and down my back.

“I know. I know. But something that feels this good can’t be wrong, right? I’m tired of denying that this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. You by my side, forever. I’m not willing to risk another shooting, or car accident, or freak earthquake taking you from me. I don’t care about hurt feelings or inconvenient timing. I won’t be separated from you again, do you understand?”

I’m still confused about how quickly all of this is happening, but there’s no denying the passion behind his words. I nod in agreement, unable to find my voice, and he places a quick kiss on my lips.

“So, yes, I’ll try to keep it quiet. For now. But I can’t make any promises. I’m not going to apologize for loving you. I’m past that, and you need to get past it too. This is it, and I’m not letting you go.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Chapter Thirty Five**

**April**

I wake up first, no surprise there. I didn’t have my alarm set as I didn’t have to get Harriet up and ready for school, but it’s still reasonably early. I can tell from the amount of sun coming in through the windows that it’s later than I usually get up, but not so late that we’ve missed our morning appointments. I don’t think Jackson has to be at work until nine today anyway. The feel of his weight in the bed next to me brings me a sense of contentment that I wasn’t expecting, and I turn in the bed to get a better look at him. He’s sleeping on his stomach with his back bare and the sheet pooled at the top of his ass. He’s always been a hot sleeper. At first, it took me a while to get used to the heat that radiated off of him when we slept side by side, and then at the end, I couldn’t sleep well without it.

If he wants to get his run in before work this morning, he better wake up soon.

I run my fingers down his spine, gently, and am rewarded when a shiver runs through his body. I wait a few moments to see if I’m going to get anything else out of him, but his breathing doesn’t even hitch a beat, and when I don’t, I try again. This time, as gently as I can as to not wake him up from my movements from the bed, I ease myself onto my hands and knees and move the few spaces between us so that I am hovering over his body.

Softly peeling the sheet away so that his entire backside is exposed, I start at the base of his head and kiss and lick all the way down to the top of his thighs. Somewhere around his upper back, I felt his breathing change, and his body start to move minutely. He manages to keep himself still enough to pretend to still be sleeping, so I kept working my way down his body. As I’m pulling back to sit back on my heels, he flips over and stretches, smiling wide and proving to me that all of him is awake and happy to see me.

He pulls me to him and kisses me deeply, then reaches down between my legs to feel that I’m as awake as he is. Without any further comment, he puts a hand on either side of my waist and positions me on top of him. The feel of him entering me from this angle is exquisite, and I feel his moan echo mine. Starting out slow, I rock forward until he’s at the end, then slowly sink back down again.

“I found them _Gramere_ , they’re in Daddy’s room!”

I whip my head around just in time to see a little form running out of the door in the other direction, presumably the stairs.

I freeze.

So, this is what this feels like. At last, I’ve reached that pinnacle of parenting that all parents dread: your kids walking in on you having sex.

Harriet wasn’t moving around the last time Jackson and I were having sex together, and Matthew and I didn’t have sex often enough when she was for us getting caught to ever be a worry.

I’m debating about whether to be more amused or horrified when Jackson’s reaction kicks in. Without ceremony, he flings me off of him and tosses the sheet on top of me. Spluttering at the abrupt change in positions, I untangle myself from the sheet to see Jackson rocketing out of bed, reaching for his jeans so fast that he tumbles over his own feet trying to pick them up off of the floor. He looks like he’s playing some warped game of Twister by himself.

“Jackson, what?”

I can’t help but giggle at his reaction. It’s a little extreme. It’s not like he hasn’t seen us in stages of undress before. Sure, not together, but I think he’s going to have to get used to it sooner rather than later if we’re really doing this.

“Maman, April! If Harriet’s here that means so is my mother!”

He gets his legs into his jeans and jumps up to his feet to finish tugging them over his ass. I can’t help but admire how great he looks with his pants riding so low on his hips when I register what he’s just said.

Then it’s horrified for the win.

“Oh, My God!”

Before I have a chance to gather my wits about me, Catherine stops in the doorway with Harriet’s hand in hers. Jackson’s hands are still on his buttons when he looks up at this mother and our son standing in the bedroom doorway, taking in the scene in front of them. I just manage to get the sheet pulled up enough so that I don’t feel 100% exposed before she appears.

“Well well well, what do we have here?”

Catherine asks in her best Mother Superior tone.

“Mommy and Daddy were kissing, Grammie!” 

I’ve never been more mortified in my entire life. I can feel myself blushing to the roots of my hair. My eyes close, and I pray for God to cause an earthquake or a tornado, anything to get me out of this situation. Jackson makes a choking sound and looks like a kid who just got caught doing something naughty.

Very very naughty.

Catherine looks down at Harriet and pops her on the nose, bringing a peal of happy laughter from our daughter. I’d love to admire the close relationship they share if I wasn’t naked with _Just Fucked_ hair while I did it.

“Is that so sweetie? Harriet dear, go get your show and tell project. _Grandmere_ will meet you downstairs.”

“Okay,” she says and goes running off down the hallway.

Catherine turns her attention back to us, and says in that cool boardroom voice of hers, “I could pretend to be shocked, but I think we’re all a little too old to play that game, don’t you?”

I’ve seen her exact facial expression so many times on Jackson’s face, and even a few times on Harriet’s, that it threatens to set off my giggles again. It’s the look of someone who’s caught you eating the cookies you swore you didn’t have but in reality were hidden in the back of your closet. Vindication and irritation all rolled into one, and you can see the wheels turning in the back of their brains, calculating how they can turn this situation to their best advantage.

“ _Maman_.”

“Don’t _Maman_ me, Jackson. Next time you want to use me to _Avoir une relation sexuelle_ , warn me ahead of time so that I don’t bring Harriet back in the middle of it _S'il vous plaît_. It’s a little undignified, don’t you think _file_?”

I have to use both hands to cover my mouth because as Jackson’s exterior deteriorates in embarrassment and horror, Catherine’s just becomes smugger. Her eyes flick to me briefly, and I swear I see her wink at me. She’s enjoying this, I realize, and the giggles are no longer being kept hidden behind my hands. 

If looks could kill, the look Jackson shoots in my direction would vaporize me on the spot. It takes all of my will power, but I manage to swallow back my amusement.

Kind of.

Now I sound like someone who’s choking on their dinner instead of someone who’s laughing at their boyfriend.

Lover?

Ex-Husband?

Future Husband?

Shit.

“Please tell me you both took care of your _affaires_ before you jumped back into bed together.”

“That’s really none of your concern _Maman_. Go away!” 

He knows better than to take that tone with her. She’s just going to dig her heels in. Will I always be playing peacekeeper between them? That thought doesn’t make me feel as tired as it once would have. Catherine could’ve waited until we’re more put together to have this conversation, sure, but then I realize it’s not very often you catch _the_ Jackson Avery off of his game. She’ll want to hold the position of power for as long as she can. However, I suppose it’s my duty to try to even the playing field. 

Using my mommy voice, I say, “Yes, of course, Catherine. The divorce papers will be submitted today, and Jackson ended things with Maggie. We would never purposefully do anything to hurt anyone.”

At that, she only raises her eyebrow at me, and I mumble out, “again.”

With his mother’s attention momentarily turned to me, Jackson has seemingly recovered his equilibrium, because he stands up to his full height and shoots dirty looks between the both of us. It’s got to be hard to be authoritative while being caught shirtless with your pants around your ankles, _literally_ , but Jackson manages to pull it off, and seeing him standing there tall and strong trips something inside of me. I find myself hoping that he puts an end to this sooner rather than later so that we can pick up where we left off.

“What are you even doing here, mom?”

“Harriet needed to get something for school. Something about a show and tell project. You made her a _médecin_ kit?”

“Oh yeah,” I pipe up from the bed, sitting up now and scooting to the edge with the sheet still wrapped around my chest. My hair falls all over my face with the motion, and I almost lose the sheet, trying to push it out of my eyes. 

“It’s adorable. They’re doing a show and tell this week about what they want to be when they grow up, and of course, she said he wanted to be a surgeon. Jackson was all butt-hurt though because she said she wanted to work with cute babies like Uncle Alex instead of grownups like mommy and daddy.”

Jackson shoots me another irritated glare, and I smile cheekily in return.

“We put together an adorable, but practical, little doctor’s bag for her to take with a mixture of toy doctor items and stuff from the hospital. I better go see if she needs help. Jackson, take _Maman_ downstairs and start the coffee, would you? I need to get dressed.”

There is a cascade of emotions flittering across his face, and I wonder if his mother can read him as easily as I can. Irritation and desperation, lust and disappointment and finally resignation, as he walks over to his dresser and pulls a muscle shirt out and yanks it over his head.

“I’ll be there in a minute, _Maman_.”

I can hear the dismissal in his voice as easily as she can and spare a moment to wonder how she’ll take it before he’s in front of me. 

“You look beautifully wild like that,” he tells me, leaning down to give me a quick kiss. At least I was expecting it to be quick. Instead, he puts both of his hands on my face and in my hair respectively and kisses me so thoroughly that I’m practically panting before he finally pulls away. 

Seeing Catherine’s back, I know that she saw at least some of that, and I feel the blood rush up my chest and shoulders to shade my face red. If this keeps up, I’m going to permanently be tinged this color.

“Don’t leave me alone with her for too long,” he says as he goes to follow his mother out of the room, and I run my hands down my neck to try to pull my raging hormones back into my body. If that was the closing salvo in this morning’s battle for dominance with his mother, it’s hard to say who won.

I reach the top of the stairs, fully dressed and with Harriet preceding me, just in time to overhear the end of their conversation.

“I love her _Maman_.”

The sincere tenderness in his voice makes my heartbreak. He loves me. We can overcome everything else as long as he loves me.

“I know you do file, just don’t _bousiller_ this time.”

They enter my line sight in time for me to see their hug, and it makes me love them both a smidgen more.

“April,” my name coming out of her lips makes me jump, and I can’t tell if she knew I would be there or just assumed since Harriet showed up holding her doctor's bag. “I’m on the plane back to Boston on Sunday. We’re having a family dinner Saturday night, and I expect you to be there.”

“Of course. I’ll be there, _Maman_.” I reply with pleasure.

“Good. Come on, Harriet, let’s get you to school.”

After giving Jackson and I both a hug and a kiss, Harriet takes her hand and starts talking a mile a minute in the way that children do, telling her grandmother about everything in her kit and about what it means to be a surgeon. I hear Catherine ask if Harriet knows what a CEO is before the door shuts all the way behind them.

Jackson turns to face me, and the tension in the room immediately skyrockets to an eleven. His posture and facial expression set off every warning bell I have, and I slowly start to back away towards to stairs.

“Where were we?’ he asks, in that low, seductive voice he has, and before I can even respond, he bum-rushes me at the bottom of the stairs.

My laughter bellows out across the living room as he throws me over his shoulder fireman style and takes the stairs two at a time.


	36. Chapter 36

**Chapter Thirty Six**

## April

It’s too early to try to start making breakfast, but I can’t lie in this bed staring at the ceiling anymore. I could wake Jackson up to distract me, (and oh what a beautiful distraction he is), but he mentioned the other day about my poor sleeping habits of late and I don’t want to answer any questions about why I can’t sleep tonight.

The nightmares are getting worse and I don’t know what to do about them. I wouldn’t call them nightmares per se, it’s just a recap of what happened _that_ day, but with a few minor tweaks. Ruby and Harriet are with me and are hurt. Rick and Daniel don’t take the shooter down fast enough, and more innocents are injured, or they don’t take him down at all, and I fail all of those people. 

I don’t know why I am having these dreams this time. It isn’t like this is my first experience with trauma. I’ve been face to face with the horror that can be humanity. When I was in the Army, I treated gunman and bombers both. I’d get men and women on my table that were missing limbs from explosions or insurgent attacks. Children who never got a chance to be kids because they were born in a war zone. Then of course, there was the gunman during residency. That was a fun experience. I managed to talk my way out of that one. Excluding the occasional apprehension when facing a person in apparent psychological distress, after the first few weeks, I never lost a minute of sleep over it. 

Or, not much anyway.

But now, sometimes I think I’m even having the nightmares when I’m awake. I’m always afraid. I can’t watch TV. I can’t listen to the news. Even the sound of a car backfiring the other day had me gripping my steering wheel in panic and fright. It was almost five minutes before I had myself under control enough to move the car off the side of the road.

I’m lucky I didn’t kill myself. 

Or anyone else.

I thought when I started sharing a bed with Jackson again, it would help with the dreams. It did. At first. Probably because in the early days there wasn’t much sleeping going on in that bed. Unfortunately, once I started work full time again, and life went back to normal, we couldn’t spend all night making love. 

The only time I feel one hundred percent safe is when I’m in Jackson’s arms.

Now the nightmares have gotten really bad. Now, Jackson is in all of them. _Now_ , instead of me holding the hand of a stranger as he bleeds out all around me, it’s Jackson, telling me he loves me as his life drains away. 

Tonight’s dream is the worst yet. 

Everybody was dead before I had a chance to save them. Around the area, I ran, and each time I laid hands on a patient, they died. Strangers and loved ones alike, dead with my hands on their bodies. 

No matter how hard I begged and pleaded, the shooter refused to kill me too. 

Said it was my punishment to watch instead.

I’ve been able to pick up more shifts at work. The fact that I’m freshly back with a department to run is a fabulous excuse to be there around the clock. But I overheard Jackson and Owen talking the other night about how jagged I seem lately. 

Jackson was asking if Owen ever sees me sleep. 

Grabbing my phone off of the bed, I head downstairs to wait for daylight.

_How am I supposed to sleep when every time I close my eyes all I see are bullets and blood?_


	37. Chapter 37

**Chapter Thirty Seven**

Jackson

I’m sitting at my desk, daydreaming about last night when I should be doing research for next week’s facial reconstruction. A fourteen-year old girl in an MVC had a piece of glass slit her from her lower check to almost the corner of her eye. She was stitched up poorly, and it healed even worse. We didn’t initially treat her here; otherwise, she wouldn’t need reconstructive surgery to begin with. 

Our surgeons would never treat a facial lac with such disregard. Sloan made sure of that. She’s seventeen now, and her family raised the money for the surgery as a graduation present. I won’t be able to make it disappear entirely, but by the time she starts college in a year, she’ll have the confidence of a movie star.

“Dude!” 

Alex barges into my office, smacking the door so hard it rebounds and almost hits him in the face as he comes storming inside pointing his finger at me.

“Next time you talk to your wife, tell her to stay the hell away from mine! This morning was all her damn fault!”

“Good morning to you too, Alex.”

He glowers at me. 

“I don’t currently have a wife. I’m working on it. However, I’m assuming you’re talking about Ellabeth. Whatever has your panties in a twist, go talk to her yourself. She’s been back to work for weeks now.”

“Yes, April! Jo had the baby this morning.” 

At that, his whole demeanor changes, and I jump out of my seat to pull him into a hug.

“What?! Congrats, man!” 

He hugs me back hard but brief and pulls his phone out of his pocket to show me a picture. His smile is genuine and rare, and you can see the pride radiating off of him.

“Isabella Meredith Karev. 8 lbs, 10 ounces. 21 inches. We wanted to name her after Meredith, but Mer shut us down.”

“She’s gorgeous man. It was about time too. What was she, a week overdue? What room are they in? When can we go to visit? What was her Apgar?”

“Apgar was good, eight and nine. They’re going to stay here tonight, and then we’ll probably have everybody over to the house on Sunday. They’re in Room 402 by the nursery, no thanks to April!” 

His grumpiness is back, and he’s flipping between emotions so fast it’s giving me a headache.

“What does April have to do with any of this? She was with me all morning.”

It takes me a second to realize how that can be construed, and any and all assumptions he jumps to would be one hundred percent correct after all. He scoffs at me, and I know that any delusions that April had about keeping us a secret were just that.

Delusions.

“Yeah, I bet she was. But she and Arizona have been talking to Jo about childbirth and all of that junk. Then this morning I woke up to see Jo in some weird squat holding onto the kitchen counter when she tells me that her water broke hours ago, and women have been having babies for millennia, and she doesn’t need to go to the hospital yet. 

“As a matter of fact, home births are still the preferred way to have children in countries all over the world. She refused to get in the car!

“Even though I haven’t been able to stop her from going to the hospital every other damn day of her damn pregnancy, no matter how much I beg her to take it easy. So, I called Meredith and had Mer try to talk some sense into her. By the time we finally got her to come around, Meredith and I delivered the damn baby in the hospital parking lot! Meredith called Deluca from the car, and he and a damn intern had to meet us out there with a delivery kit and a gurney.”

_That’s a lot of damns._

I can’t help but smile because he’s right; that does have April written all over it. It makes me think about what happened to April and Harriet during their accidental home birth, but those thoughts have no place here today. Jo and their baby are okay, and that’s all that matters.

Pulling out my phone, I call April. “I’ll tell her right now,” I say to Alex, and watch as he crosses his arms across his chest and waits for me to rip April a new one.

“Hey, Guess what?! Jo had the baby this morning. Yeah, it is exciting. They’re both doing great. eight and nine, Isabella. She’s ready for visitors whenever you are. Alex says she really took your talks about the benefits of a natural childbirth to heart. Yeah, no pain meds whatsoever.” 

The disgusted growl he gives me is worth the cold shoulder I’ll receive for the next few days, and I don’t bother trying to hold back the belly laugh that escapes me as he turns around and slams his way back out of my office.

*****

A few hours later, Ellabeth and I head up together to visit with mom and baby. Alex was supposed to start paternity leave the second the baby was born but being a surgeon is more ingrained than we’d like to admit sometimes. My mother was right, it’s a calling, and that’s not something that’s easily turned off, new baby or not.

Little Bella is sleeping like a champ, trying to recover from her dramatic entrance, so Alex went to handle an emergent appendectomy in a six-year-old while he still had a full night’s sleep in his system. It’s going to be a long time before he has another one of those under his belt.

Jo is glowing. Absolutely radiant. She never bothered to put on a hospital gown, just threw on a nursing shirt and what I can only assume is a pair of pajama bottoms under her blanket. I recognize the clips at the tops of the straps for it to pop open. 

_Not just easy access for baby._

_Bad Jackson._

Looking at it, it may even be one of April’s nursing shirts from when our baby was still nursing. Thinking about Ellabeth nursing, our child, singing her a lullaby while rocking in the glider; gives me an ache of longing deep in my chest.

Rubbing my hand over my breastbone, as if that could possibly ease the pain that planted itself there, I turn my attention back to the new mother and baby.

Instead of being in the plastic nursery sleeper like she’s supposed to be, Bella is asleep on the bed between her mother’s spread out legs. I can’t judge her skin tone, because it will be several weeks until it settles into the shade it’s going to be permanently, but she has a full head of perfectly blonde hair. Without seeing her eyes, which are closed sweetly on her face, she almost looks like Princess Aurora.

I hang back and watch while April goes to hug Jo and talk about the excitement of the morning and the amusing reaction of Alex when he found her in labor in the kitchen. 

Well, the ladies thought it was amusing anyway. If I were an idiot, I’d tell them that I rather agree with Alex this time. But I’m not an idiot.

“I’ve told him multiple times today, delivering the baby in the parking lot was all his fault. If we’d have stayed at home, we would have been just fine. It’s not as if we’re not both doctors after all. He’s delivered plenty of baby, and he’s a pediatrician for fucks sake.

“Now he wants to keep me here overnight when I could be home in my own bed resting my crotch where it’s comfortable.”

“Yeah but he’s a man, Jo. The only way they feel useful in these situations is if we let them think that we need them. Stay here, let him think that he’s made an important decision and helped ease your load. You’ve been married long enough I’m sure you’ve learned to placate his neediness without letting it get in your way.”

At this, I have to speak up.

_“Excuse me?”_

The girls look at each other and burst into giggles, sharing expressions that read incredibly like _I told you so._

Isabella starts to squirm at the commotion, and April asks permission to pick up the baby. With the ease of years of practice, she takes Bella into her arms and settles herself into the recliner next to the bed. 

Automatically she starts rocking side to side and bouncing the baby gently up and down in her arms. When she starts to sing, it’s the lullaby that my mother taught her before Harriet was born, _Au clair de la lune_.

_Au clair de la lune,_

_Mon ami Pierrot, Prête-moi ta plume_

_Pour écrire un mot._

_Ma chandelle est morte,_

_Je n'ai plus de feu, Ouvre-moi ta porte,_

_Pour l'amour de Dieu._

“I can hear you thinking.” 

It takes me a minute to realize she’s speaking to me. The ache in my chest has gotten worse watching Ellabeth with the new baby, and I may have been staring harder than strictly called for. 

I turn my attention from April in the chair to Jo leaning back in the bed.

“She’s a beautiful baby. You are positively glowing. Congratulations Jo. You’re right. Alex overreacted this morning.”

She nods her head regally at me in gracious acceptance of my comment, and it makes me chuckle under my breath.

“Is your baby lust kicking in, Jackson?”

Baby lust. Not just any baby. _Our baby._

“Nah, my days of midnight changes are over, unfortunately. I may be persuaded to babysit on occasion, though.”

Probably more than occasionally. We’re a tight group. We share children just like we share babysitters. I can think of multiple occasions of kids being swapped back and forth when emergent patients needed attention. Sometimes you go into surgery having left your kid with one person and get out to see that now they are with someone completely different. We have a great family here.

Jo passes a knowing look between April and me before she speaks again.

“Oh, I don’t know Jackson. Never say never. The lord works in mysterious ways and all that.”

I don’t really have a response to that, so I “hmm” and nod and continue to watch April sing to Isabella.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***SMUT WARNING (Just in the beginning though)

**Chapter Thirty Eight**

**Jackson**

**Love the Way You Lie – Eminem, Rihanna**

It’s subtle at first. Light enough that I think it may be a dream. Even when the pressure increases, I don’t realize what’s going on. 

I’m not at my best in the morning. 

It’s not until I try to roll over and she presses down firmly on my thighs to hold me in place that realization shoots to my brain. My dick, thank God, realized what was happening right away and gladly rose to the attention that was being given to him. 

She’s always so good at this, so eager to please. Her skills as a doctor have given her an impressive ability to read body language and sometimes, I think she can tell what I want before I know it. 

She flattens her tongue at the base of my cock and slowly strokes her way up, then down the other side. Everything she’s doing is slow this morning, and it’s making my balls ache in the very best of ways. When she finally takes me entirely into her mouth, she immediately lightens the pressure of her mouth and rolls her tongue around me. It feels as if she’s french kissing my dick, and the sensations are exquisite. 

She places her hand on my balls, and it just ratchets my tension up to a notch.

“Jesus Christ, April.”

Her pace is torturous, and within minutes, I feel myself arching up into her touch, desperately seeking the force I need to finish me off. Her only response is to slow it down even further, her kisses becoming languorous and loose. I quickly get the point. April is in charge. 

With a herculean effort, I manage to still my gyrating hips. I’m rewarded with the feeling of the back of her throat against my head and the suction of her mouth as she pulls back off. Then she returns to her previous administrations, leisurely making out with my cock.

Even then, it doesn’t take long, and I’m praying to God and Buddha and The Easter Bunny by the time my orgasm rips through me.

Giving me a moment to recover, she kisses her way up my body then collapses on the bed next to me. You’d think I was the one who just blew her with the way her body flops heavily onto the mattress.

“What was that for? And by that, I mean ‘Thank you very much’.”

She gives me a quiet chuckle before she answers my question. She sounds exhausted.

“You worked hard yesterday; I thought you deserved it.”

“I worked hard? April, are you just getting home?”

“No, of course not.”

Her voice is heavy and sleep-laden, and I’m instantly on alert.

“Woke up to pee. Just give me a few minutes. Don’t let me sleep too long.”

With that, she’s out.

Reaching for my phone, I see it’s barely 5:00 a.m. It’s not even light outside yet. She wasn’t home when I went to bed at eleven. Has she even slept at all tonight? 

Somethings wrong, and I don’t know how to help her. I haven’t seen any episodes like that one on the couch, but then I’ve barely seen her outside of the hospital these past few weeks.

Rolling over on my side, I quickly check her vitals to assure myself she’s sleeping sound, then reach around her to turn off the alarm on her phone. Whatever’s going on with her isn’t going to be helped by a blaring alarm in an hour. Seeing her still and at peace, I take in the bags under her eyes, her nails that have been bitten to the quick.

Her pallor, which generally gives her the aura of being luminescent, now makes her seem sickly and weak.

What is happening to my Ellabeth? 

***

I’m lying in an on-call room contemplating this morning’s events when Alex pushes open the door. Scoffing loud enough to make a point about it, he kicks his shoes off in my direction and climbs up onto the top bunk.

“I know why I’m tired. I have a newborn at home. What’s your excuse for being in here?”

I hesitate only a minute. Alex may be our boss, but he’s been our friend for a decade-plus. It’s not like we haven’t talked sex before.

“April woke me up before sunrise with her mouth around my cock.”

“Must be nice. Jo woke me up before sunrise and told me that if I didn’t go deal with the baby, she’d cut mine off. Frankly, I’m ready to let her if I could get more than an hours sleep at a time. I love the kid, but man, she’s killing me here.”

Any other time and I would have fun with Jo threatening to unman Alex, especially because she _would_. Without hesitation. She’s feisty as hell. All it would take is the right provocation. But I have my own issues to deal with right now.

“There’s something wrong with her, Alex. She’s never at home anymore. When she is, all she wants to do is have sex. For hours on end and at all hours of the night. If she’s not at work, she’s in our bed. It’s too much. It’s not like her. She’s not eating. She’s not sleeping. She needs to sleep dammit.”

“ _Too. Much.”_

The disdain is oozing off of his voice. The disgust with me is apparent. I’m not describing this right.

“She’s not sleeping Alex. I think she’s afraid to go to sleep.”

“Let me get this straight. The love of your life, the best sex you’ve ever had, won’t stop trying to seduce you. Wakes you up by blowing you, and this is a cause for concern? I can’t handle this right now. Don’t wake me up unless the hospital is on fire.”

I don’t say anything else. There’s no point in doing so. Alex obviously has other concerns on his mind.

Getting up from the bed, I put my scrub top back on over my undershirt and lace up my Nikes. After a moment’s thought, I grab Alex’s shoes too and take them with me. There’s a nurses’ station directly in front of the on-call room, and I make a shushing noise at the nurses gathered there as I open a drawer big enough and shove them inside.

“You’ll pay for that,” one says with mischief in her voice.

“Worth it.” 

Taking out my wallet and dropping two twenties onto the table, I add the icing to my cake.

“Coffee for you lovely ladies if someone will send me a video when he comes out looking for his shoes.”

With that, I head out in search of Ellabeth.


	39. Chapter 39

**Chapter Thirty Nine**

## April

## Say Something – A Great Big World and Christina Aguilera

“Hey, Beautiful.” 

Jackson walks up behind me when I’m sitting at the computer desk, wrapping his arms around me. I momentarily consider shrugging him off but turn my cheek upwards for a kiss instead. It’s not like the whole hospital doesn’t know we’re back together. There aren’t any patients in this part of the ED to see us being unprofessional.

I watch as he pulls up a chair and sits in it backward with his arms wrapped around the back. He reaches for me, but instead of the caress I’m expecting, he rubs his thumb over the bags under my eyes, and I am immediately on guard. 

He looks around me, and I try not to squirm under the inspection. My desk is covered with to-go coffee cups, and my trash is filled to the brim with a combination of coffee cups, five-hour energy, and protein bars. 

“What time did you get home last night?”

My palms immediately start to itch, and I try to think of everything I’ve ever picked up from television and movies about passing lie detector tests. My insides are all twisted, and there’s a band tightening around my rib cage.

“I got pulled into a late surgery. You know how it is. Trauma, trauma, trauma. I got home at about 3:00 a.m. or so.” 

I shouldn’t feel guilty. I have nothing to feel guilty about. I don’t need him worrying about me. I can take care of myself. He has enough on his plate to do than to spend time worrying about me. But I can see his face fall and the concerned race across it.

“Let me get this straight. You didn’t get home until the wee hours of the morning. You waste an hour at least reminding me how much I love you, then sleep for less than two hours before your awake again screaming at me for letting you sleep?”

“Thank you for that. You turned off my alarm. I was almost late, Jackson. You know how I much I hate to be late.”

Getting mad at him for trying to give me more rest probably isn’t my best recourse here, but it’s the only emotion I have in my arsenal at the moment outside of guilt and fear, and I don’t think either of those will play well here either.

Quick as a flash, Jackson stands and flips the chair around then sits on the edge of the seat. Without the separation of the chair back between us, his presence seems much more intense, and the need to squirm under his gaze intensifies. I try to stand up, intending to leave and go back to work, but Jackson grabs my hands before I rise more than a few inches out of my chair.

“Ellabeth. Talk to me. Please. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on Jackson. I’m fine. And getting tired of having to tell you that all the damn time.” 

“That would be easier to believe if your nails weren’t bitten to nubs and if you didn’t have bags under your eyes the size of the Grand Canyon. You’re losing weight Ellabeth, and you never sleep. Please, let me help you. Tell me what is going on.”

My heart kicks up a notch at the worry in his voice, but my eyes dart around the room as if I've been caught doing something I’m not supposed to be. I take a deep breath and try to put a reassuring smile on my face.

“Jackson, it’s just the stress of starting the new job. So many things have happened this summer. I’m getting divorced. I started a new job with considerable responsibilities. I have a new lover, and he’s taken a large part of my concentration.” 

I try to smirk at him, but his smile in return is half-hearted at best.

“Look, we’ll go home together today. Have dinner with Harriet, watch a movie and I’ll show you that everything’s okay. Okay?”

He’s burning holes into me with his facial expression, but I do my best to keep mine light and at ease. At last, he nods and rises from his chair. I think he’s about to leave, but then he drops to his heels next to me in my seat. In this position, he’s looking up at me, and it’s strange to see him from this angle. His expression is solemn, and I feel like he’s trying to read my soul.

He cups my face in his hand, and I lean into the warmth that seeps into my skin.

“I love you, April.”

“I know you do Jackson. I love you too.”

At that, he finally gets up and leaves me alone in my office, and I feel my body wilt in on its self. 

***

It’s dark in the room, and Jackson’s weight is a constant presence next to me. We had a pleasant evening with Harriet. We played several rounds of Connect Four, then Jackson joined me in the bubble bath. That huge tub is perfect for sharing, and we fit like a glove.

We make love before bed, and it’s different than it has been of late. Gentle and slow instead of the passioned frenzy that is has been. The difference, I suppose, is that I want him tonight, instead of needing him to distract me.

When I finally fall into bed with Jackson, he seems more at ease than I’ve seen him in weeks. Sleep comes easily tonight, and at last, I think, I’m going to be able to sleep till morning. 

The terrors pull me awake less than an hour later. 

Setting my alarm to be back in bed before Jackson’s alarm goes off, I check on Harriet, then head downstairs to wait until the sun rises.


	40. Chapter 40

**Chapter Forty**

**Jackson**

**Human – Rag.n.Bone Man**

For the second time in four months, my phone and pager go off at the same time. Then my phone goes off again.

Once again, I'm in a patient's room, trying to ease their fears and answer their questions before we go to surgery. Today is a breast reconstruction for a wonderful mother in her forties after aggressive cancer treatment. Giving my best Avery smile, I reach for my pager, then my phone as it vibrates for the third time in less than 3 seconds.

 ** _APRIL ED 911_** reads my pager

 ** _APRIL ED 911_** shouts my phone

 ** _GET YOUR ASS HERE NOW_** barks the text from Owen

 ** _its bad Jackson_** whispers the text from Alex.

This time I don't wait to politely excuse myself from the patient. I don't stroll over to smile at the nurses or detour to remove my coat so that it stays clean.

I turn on my heel and sprint out of the room and down the hallway as fast as my legs can carry me. I sense more than see the confused looks that I leave in my wake but can't spare the thought process to worry about them. 

"Get out of my way!" 

I scream at the patient walking around the floor dragging an IV pole behind them. I don't care if he came here to heal. He's in between April and me. I don't bother with the elevator; instead hitting the stairwell at full pace and leaping down them chunks at a time. If I land wrong, there's a good chance I'll break my ankle. 

I hear from the slamming of the door and the echoing on the stairs that I've picked up a shadow on my race to the ED, but I don't waste the moments to turn to see who it is.

In the seconds since I saw the messages on my devices, I've thought of and dismissed a thousand possible scenarios that would bring those sorts of texts to my phone — each more unlikely than the last.

I make the approximately four-minute maze walk from the pre-op ward to the emergency room in less than a minute flat, and still, it feels like it took me ages to get here.

What I find almost knocks me off of my feet.

April

The little boy in front of me is so sweet he's making my teeth hurt. He came in with a stomach bug, severely dehydrated. We got him set up with an IV, which he took like a champ, and dosed him with some anti-nausea meds, and now he's flirting with me from the comfort of his mother's lap. He's got tight light curly hair, not unlike Harriet's would look like if she were this age, and has asked me twice now if I have a boyfriend. I'm half tempted to slip the mother my phone number. Now I certainly can't date her son, but I bet Harriet would have a great time hamming it up with the little cutie. 

I'm finishing up in their room, assuring the mom that he should be just fine and talking about aftercare instructions when I hear it. It echoes in the closed space of the Emergency Department like we're in the Grand Ole Opry.

The sound is unmistakably a gunshot. Several more follow in rapid succession.

_Pow. Pow. Pow-Pow-Pow._

Adrenaline floods my system, and the resulted mix of chemicals in my bloodstream makes the desire to throw up overwhelming.

I open my mouth to yell for our patients to take cover, to protect themselves, but nothing comes out.

Instead, I feel the pressure start to build in my gut. My throat is closing, and my heart is pounding, but still, the scream rips itself from my diaphragm

The need to run, to flee, to protect myself at all costs is warring with my desire to protect everyone around me, and the result is my body trembling with indecision.

I have to get away!

I can't go through this again!

My knees go weak, and I hit the ground hard, making no effort to protect myself on the way down. The shock of the blow reverberates through my body, making my extremities ache and tingle. I'm on my side on the floor with no control over my limbs. I'm going to die, and there'll be nothing I can do to stop it this time. 

I hear this horrible keening noise, and I'm trying to focus enough to see what's going on around me when stars start to overtake my vision. The room is getting smaller, and my view is going darker. My chest is burning, and my lungs are on fire.

_Oh God._

_Am I dying?_

I feel like I'm dying. I must be having a heart attack. It's the only explanation. The sound around me cuts off abruptly when I finally suck air into my lungs, and I realize that the pathetic mewing noises were coming from me. 

My vision returns with the oxygen but distorted; as if looking through a filter.

I see Owen running towards me, sliding on his knees and taking my head into his hands, but it's as if I'm watching it happen from a long way off. He turns and yells in the direction of the glass doors, but the only sounds I can make out are my heartbeat and the buzzing in my ears.

I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here. 

_I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE!!!!!_

Nausea finally gets the best of me, and my stomach heaves and burns. I try to angle my body, to protect both Owen and me from the bile that's forcing its way out of my burning throat, but my limbs still won't obey my commands. I have no feeling in my legs and arms at all. I'm stuck in a body that's doing its best to kill me. When I start to get sick, a nurse drops to her knees beside us and angles my body so that I don't choke on my own vomit. When my body finishes dispelling all of my stomach contents, I feel someone clean my face, and my breathing regulates to short, shallow little puffs of air. My head is resting on something, but I'm too disoriented to tell what it is.

More feet come into my line of site, but I can't see who they belong to. I'm so tired, so very tired. I've been on this floor for hours now, and I know they're going to kill me. I'm ready for this to be over. I'm prepared to die.

Suddenly Jackson drops to the floor in front of me.

Jackson

April is on the floor, eyes dazed and unfocused, breathing coming in tight little gasps. Owen is on the floor under her, with her head resting in his lap. He's stroking her hair and talking to her with soothing words and tears streaming silently down his face. If she notices any of the commotion going on around her, she doesn't give any indication of it. They've pushed the gurney to the corner of the room, cockeyed and disheveled, presumably so that they could have more room to move around her. There's a small pool of vomit a few feet away from where she is laying. 

Alex is arguing with one of the other emergency room physicians about whether or not psych needs to be called and whether any drugs should be given to her. 

"What are you, a fucking moron? Of course we don't dose her. It's a panic attack. Just let it ride. The only person who's hurt here is her!"

"Tell that to the family she just traumatized."

All conversation stops when I come barreling into the room, Meredith close on my heels. 

"What the fuck happened?!"

I drop to the ground next to April and Owen and quickly take her in. One hand on her face and the other grasping her wrist, her pulse is racing, and her breathing is too shallow to sustain her for long like this.

"Teenagers set off firecrackers in the walkway of the ambulance entrance. It echoed off the walls like gunshots. The family April was treating said that when they sounds went off, she had some sort of attack. Starting yelling, then collapsed and started shaking on the floor. The mother didn't want to leave her son, but a nearby nurse heard the commotion and ran to get help. It's been probably seven minutes now. She should come out of it soon."

Moving one hand to her face and the other to her pulse point in her neck, I start to rub soothing circles into her skin.

"Ellabeth, look at me, baby. Just like last time, breathe with me, sweetheart. In, and out. In, and out."

"Last time, what do you mean last time? Has this happened before?"

Alex's tone is sharp and full of concern. And perhaps laced with just a small amount of anger.

"Nightmares. Startling at certain noises. I've seen a minor episode when she was woken up unexpectedly. But nothing like this."

I don’t dare turn my attention from April but spare a glance in Alex’s direction. His arms are tight across his chest, and he’s watching us with a mixture of concern and accusation on his face. The head of the psychiatry department comes hurrying in, and I turn my eyes back to April.

Her body is starting to go slack, and at long last, her breathing is beginning to deepen and even out. I've kept my fingers on her pulse point as we talked her down, and I can feel it start to stabilize.


	41. Chapter 41

**Chapter Forty One**

**April**

**Animal I Have Become – Three Days Grace**

As the feeling comes back into my extremities, I ache almost as much as I did after I got shot. A moan escapes my lips, and it brings with it a sense of relief that I finally have enough oxygen to do so. As the sensation returns to my hands and feet, they burn as if they have had the circulation cut off.

My gaze takes in the scene around me as shame and embarrassment flood my central nervous system. I'm so upset with my behavior that I feel sick all over again.

When I try to sit up, half a dozen hands reach for me, and my embarrassment only deepens. I'm supposed to be the boss here. And they are literally picking me up off of the floor.

I don't have the energy to try to stand up and must look as pathetic as I feel because Owen keeps his hands on my back to support me.

"Where's Jorah and his family? Are they all right?" 

“They’re fine April. You scared them a bit, but they’re fine. You’re both fine.”

My heart is thumping in my throat, and the urge to cry is overwhelming. Mortification bleeds into my every pore.

“What happened? I heard gunshots.”

From my position on the floor, I see the looks exchanged between the people in the room with me. Owen starts rubbing circles into my back, and I know before they say anything that I’ve made an even worse fool of myself than I initially thought.

I feel like a child, about to be scolded for doing wrong. From my spot in the middle of the room, the people I once called friends look like giants above me. Jackson nods, and Owen starts speaking from behind my head. Coward, I think. But Jackson wasn’t here when the gunshots went off. Maybe he doesn’t know what happened either.

“It wasn’t gunshots April; it was firecrackers. I’m sorry. A few teenage boys thought it would be funny to toss them inside the ambulance bay doors. They’ve been arrested by security. You must have had some sort of episode when you heard the noise. It did sound like gunfire.”

 _Not_ gunfire.

Good thing it wasn’t either, because I would have gotten us all killed. I failed, utterly and completely. I couldn’t protect my patients. Hell, I couldn’t even protect myself. I am cowering on the floor like some sniveling worm.

“Jackson, get me off of this floor. I need to go home.”

Without hesitation, Jackson reaches out to lift me into his arms. When I make a sound of protest, he changes his tactics and pulls me up by the shoulders into a standing position.

The room is filled with nurses and doctors, most of whom I’m supposed to be in charge of. Never again will any of these people look at me the same way. In the space of, well, however long _that_ took, I’ve lost any credibility I’ve ever held with my employees. Proven once and for all that I wasn’t up to the job.

My body is still shaking, but from what cause I couldn't tell you. Jackson is hovering at my side, unsure of what to do with himself it appears. He’s jostling from foot to foot, anxious to have something to do.

When I turn to leave, the whole room starts talking at once. I stop, facing the onslaught of concern and questions. When it becomes apparent I want to speak; silence falls inside the space.

“Alex, I can’t stay in this room. I have to go home.”

“Meredith, go get my car for me.”

Jackson reaches into his pocket, but of course, his keys aren’t there.

“They’re in your locker. I’ll bring it to the loading bay. I’ll be back in five.”

“Grab my wallet too,” Jackson hollers after her. She doesn’t stop her trot but raises her hand in acknowledgment.

Some of the nurses trailing in my wake are suggesting that I be hooked up to a set of monitors for a little while to monitor my heart and breathing, but we all know what happened. I had a fucking panic attack right in the middle of the emergency department.

Worse than that, as Owen said, I had a PTSD episode.

Jesus Christ, I collapsed on the fucking floor. Embarrassment is quickly being replaced with fear. What if I’d been driving when that happened? It almost did, once. What if I’d had Harriet with me? Jackson with me? I could have left Harriet without any parents. Hell, I could have killed us all. If something like this happens again, and Harriet’s with me—? I can’t even think about it. I’ll traumatize her for life, for starters. If we were out in public, they’d have to call the paramedics, the police — Child Protective Services.

As we enter my office, with my trail of ducklings behind me, I lunge for the trashcan and upheave the rest of my stomach contents. Jackson could lose Harriet, and it would be all my fucking fault. Owen is still by my side, trying to hold the trash can, rub my back, and hold my hair all at once. When I look up, Jackson is in the hallway with Alex and Kevin, our primary head doctor. Their voices are low, so I can’t hear what they are saying. But Jackson is gesticulating wildly, and Alex’s face is as stern as I’ve ever seen it. I think I hear Jackson say _I told you so_ to Alex, and feel the flush race up my cheeks again. Kevin turns to face Jackson head on, and I watch as his body admits defeat. Whatever the argument was about, Jackson lost. Squaring their shoulders, all three men enter my office.

*****

I’m currently suffering the worst hangover in my life, and I didn’t even get to have any fun getting it. The lecture from the shrink was luckily short and sweet. They expect to see me first thing tomorrow morning before I’m allowed back at work. Alex expanded on that and told me to take a week off, they’d cover my shifts. His arms are crossed in front of his chest as usual, but this time I couldn’t tell if he was doing it from habit, or from the need to keep his hands from around my throat. I bet he’s even now trying to talk the Hernandez family from suing. I’m in the car with Jackson, and we’re headed back to the apartment. I want nothing more than to go to sleep and wake up yesterday morning.

“You need to eat something.”

“I’m really not hungry.”

“Ellabeth, what you just went through was hard on your body. You need to replenish it.”

“What I just went through, huh? You mean humiliating myself in front of my patients and my coworkers? My subordinates? Traumatizing, probably for life, a five-year-old boy? Proving that I’m a liability to the hospital? Is that what you mean by what I just went through?”

I pause to get control on my anger.

“Don’t call me Ellabeth.”


	42. Chapter 42

**Chapter Forty Two**

## Jackson

## Whataya Want from Me –Adam Lambert

She doesn’t say another word for the rest of the ride home. When we reach the apartment, I walk around to open the car door for her and help her out of the car. Again reminding me of that night so many months ago now, she can barely support her body weight. Her motions are slow and sluggish, and the toll today took on both her body and her mind are apparent for all to see. I help her up the stairs, help her strip off the scrubs, and help her to bed, all without her saying a word. I stand on the side of the bed, watching and waiting, but she’s asleep as soon as her body hits the mattress. If the psychologist was right, and I have no reason to think he wouldn’t be, April will probably sleep uninterrupted for the first time in months.

I stand there for a ridiculous amount of time waiting for I don’t know what, but finally, I move to rid myself of my own scrubs and head downstairs to the living room. There are calls I need to make.

I’m so stupid. Such a fucking moron. I wanted her to be okay so fucking bad that I ignored every warning she was throwing off. Hell, she practically had HELP ME in big neon lights flashing over her head for the past two months, and I just stood by and let it happen. 

I left my phone on the kitchen table, and there are plenty of messages waiting for me when I finally pick it up. There’s one from Owen, and Meredith, checking on how April is doing. There’s one from Arizona letting me know that she’s heard about what happened, and she’s called Harriet's school to let them know she’ll be the one picking her up today. 

Relief and love burst in my chest, and I reach my hand up to rub it before I send her a grateful thank you and ask if she can keep her for the night. If anyone knows what April is going through right now, it would be Arizona. I don’t know why I didn’t think to talk to her sooner.

Her reply is almost instantaneous, and I send God another thank you that Harriet is one less thing I have to worry about tonight.

There are three messages from Alex, and I feel my anger spike at seeing his name on my missed calls. I know today isn’t his fault, but I can’t help but think if he’d given me a little more credit the day I tried talking to him about her, this wouldn’t have happened to begin with. He’s right; I didn’t emphasize how bad it had gotten. We had no way of knowing this type of breakdown was possible. But in my defense, I didn’t realize it myself until just right now.

The stress of the day has pulled my shoulders tight, and I open the fridge and pull out a beer. Twisting off the top, I down the first one in four swallows. I throw it into the recycling bag, then twist the top off another. I have no intention of getting shit faced. I need my wits about me when April wakes up. But I need something to take the edge off before I come out of my skin.

How didn’t I realize it? How was she able to hide all this from me? We share a home, a bed. She sleeps next to me every night.

But she doesn’t, not really. That’s part of the problem. You can’t function on so little sleep. I wonder when the last time she got any meaningful rest was. When was the last time she laid her head on a pillow and didn’t wake up in a cold sweat?

I know she’s been in touch with the Navy boys regularly. I wonder if she’s spoken to them about this? Pulling up Daniel’s number on my phone, I hit dial and wait for him to pick up. My shoulders slump in disappointment when it goes to his voicemail.

It’s a violation of her privacy, but me giving her too much privacy is what got us here in the first place, in my opinion.

“Hey man, its Jackson, April's husband. Somethings happened. She’s fine, but not really. She had an episode in the middle of work today. Mistook firecrackers for the sound of gunshots and ended up twitching on the hospital floor. Call me back as soon as you get this. I need to know what you know, if she’s told you that she’s...she’s struggling. Thanks, man.”

I bring the second beer into the living room with me and sit down on the couch, but I have too much pent of frustration to sit still for long. I push to my feet again and start pacing the room.

Any sane person would be having issues after being involved in a traumatic event like she was. Frankly, it should have caused us concern that she seemed so put together. And why, WHY didn’t she talk to me? After all of this time, you’d think she knows that she can tell me anything, everything.

Does she think I’d judge her?

Love her less?

Fuck!!

I hit the end of the living room and strike out blindly, feeling my fist hit something substantial, then the feel of the plaster giving way. When I pull my arm back out, there’s blood streaking down my fingers. The image reminds of April’s hands the day of the shooting, the blood dripping down her body, and I fall to my knees in anguish, wishing again that I could protect her from anything trying to do her harm.

Even herself.

*****

I hear her before I see her. Taking a quick peek at the watch on my wrist, I see it’s edging past 3:00 a.m. There’s a light thump on the staircase echoing her footsteps, and I wonder what it could be. I don’t sit up on the couch yet but lie still in the silence in the room, preparing myself for the battle to come.

When I do sit up, her back is towards me. She’s at the kitchen island, writing a note onto the pad there. At her feet, is a rolling suitcase and another duffle beside it. What letter does she think she could possibly be writing to me?

Gone out for coffee, be back soon?

I’ve spent the entire night trying to decide how to approach her. I don’t want to seem threatening, but I need her to understand that she needs help.

Taking a deep breath, I decide to retain my seat on the couch, for now. No need to be confrontational.

“Going somewhere?”

My voice is full in the silence of the living room, and she jerks when she hears it. It’s weird, watching her from over here. She’s both a person I know so well and someone I don’t recognize at all.

The April I love wins out, and I see her square her shoulders before she turns to face me.

“You scared me. When I woke up and saw that I was alone, I figured you’d slept at the hospital.”

“Why would I do that, Ellabeth? The woman I love is asleep in my bed. The same woman who had a psychosomatic attack less than twelve hours before. You thought that I could leave you alone in the house? Apparently, you don’t know me at all.”

My hands ache to run themselves over my face, my automatic stress reliever, but I don’t want her to think I’m upset. Cool and calm, that’s how I have to be for this. She straightens her spine a smidgen more, and it brings a small smile to my face.

My Ellabeth was never one to turn away from a challenge.

“There’s no need to worry about me, Jackson; I’m perfectly fine. I apologize for yesterday, but I promise it won’t happen a second time. As a matter of fact, I can guarantee it’s not something you’ll ever have to deal with again.”

She takes a shuddering breath, and suddenly, I am terrified. What the fuck has she done? I shoot to my feet, body reacting as if she’s laid it a physical blow.

“I’m leaving, but I’m sure you’ve surmised that already. I talked with my parents this afternoon, and they’re expecting me. I’ll stay with them until I decide what my next move should be.”

Bullshit. I talked to her parent’s for two hours last night—mine for another three. No one has heard from her outside of the standard hello text since the shooting went down in May.

“You’ll hear from the lawyer later today most likely, but I’ve given you full custody of Harriet. It will take a few days to have the paperwork done legally, but I think we can both agree it’s for the best. She’s welcome to call me of course, whenever she wants to.”

What the actual fuck. Given me full custody of Harriet?

“What the fuck are you talking about April? You aren’t going anywhere.”

My hands are clenching at my side, and I’m trying hard to keep myself under control, but know I’m failing miserably. In all the ways I thought this fight was going to go down, this certainly wasn’t one of them.

“I sure as shit am, Jackson.”

She tries to push past me, with her stupid bag and rolling suitcase in tow, and I yank the duffel from her so hard she stumbles into my chest. Using all of my might, I throw it across the room, and I can see from the fear etched plain of her face I’ve scared her.

But she’s scared me too.

What does she mean she’s leaving?

“No, April. No, you’re not. You’re going to stay right here and talk to me. Tell me what is going on in that beautiful head on yours. I love you. Don’t you understand that? I love you so much. Please let me help you!”

She tries to push past me, but I put myself in her path every direction she decides to take. Letting out a scream of frustration, she puts her hands into her hair and pulls at it like a mad woman.

“Fuck Jackson, don’t you get it? What would have happened today if I’d had an attack like that in public, huh? What if Harriet had been with me? Instead of sleeping on the couch, you’d still be pleading with Protective Services to let you see your daughter. I’d be locked in a looney bin, you’d be locked in a jail cell, if not shot, and Harriet would be in a foster home. I can’t take that risk. I can’t take the risk that I bring you both down with me. There’s something wrong with me.”

Tears are streaming down her chin, and her chest is heaving. The more she covers her face, trying to pretend it isn’t happening, the faster her tears fall. I reach out for her, desperate to have her in my arms, but she steps back, raising her hands in between us.

“No, Jackson. No.”

The harshness in her voice stops me in my tracks, hands up in a placating manner. Pay no attention to the big black man in the living room.

God no, please don’t let her do this to us.

Not again.

“Not this time. I have to go. I won’t put you both through this. Whatever’s wrong with me, it’s not your burden to bear. I _have_ to go, Jackson.”

Her voice has taken on a pleading tone, and I feel the tears finally crack on my face too. She wraps her arms around herself, whether to protect or contain, I can’t tell. Her face falls to her chest, and I can hear the hysteria pick up a notch in her crying.

“God, April. No. There’s nothing wrong with you, love. You’re sick. That’s all. Anyone who’s been through what you’ve been through would be. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

I ease my way closer to her, arms out and hands up like you’d use trying to gentle a horse. Soothing words and calming motions. That’s it.

Her face rises to look at me when I’m a foot from her, and I see the panic and fire flash behind her eyes.

“Can’t you see I’m fucking _broken_ Jackson? I’m worthless. The more I try to protect you from it, the more I wreck your life. _I have to go_. I can’t risk it happening again.”

She started out yelling, letting loose all the anguish she’s kept bottled up the last three months, but she ends in little more than a whisper, and it breaks my soul in fragments to see her so wrecked.

She crumbles to the ground, body wracking in heaving sobs. Even after Samuel died, I never saw her like this. I drop to the floor beside her and gather her into my arms. At last, she’s pliant and spent and comes to me willingly. _My beautiful trauma, how fucking beautiful you are._ Yet, I think, at last, we’re getting somewhere.

I put both of my hands on either side of her face and angle her eyes to meet mine. I want no mistaking or misunderstandings between us. She needs to know that we can get through this together.

“April. My wonderful, beautiful Ellabeth. Don’t you know by now that any time we try to do something apart, we fail? We were meant to be together, love. God put me on this earth to be at your side. If you feel broken, let me hold your pieces while you put yourself together again. I can’t do it for you, but I can stand by your side and hold the fucking glue.”

After what seems like a lifetime, she gives a nod acquiescing, and I wrap myself around her, joining my tears with hers. For the first time since the shooting took place, she finally gives in to the trauma that’s been eating away at her soul. I do as I promised and hold her while she falls apart in my arms. I’ll keep all of her pieces safe. 


	43. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

**April**

It’s the first anniversary of the event last year, and the city is hosting a memorial service. I didn’t want to participate today but Jackson, and Daniel, and my therapist, all said it was vital that I do so.

I still don’t like referring to it by what happened. _The Event_ is good enough for me. We’re up on the podium with the mayor and the governor and everyone else that was deemed important. I’m sitting in-between Daniel and Rick, with Daniel’s hand in mine. They wouldn’t let Jackson sit in the front with us, but I can feel him right behind me. No matter where I go, Jackson will always be right beside me.

I’m trying to listen to what’s being said, but my mind keeps wandering in and out.

“It’s been a year since the shooting at the North Mill Mall. We’re gathered today on a stage built in the parking lot where a year ago ambulances were lining up to carry wounded to be treated. But unlike so many of these events that have happened over the past few decades, in communities all over the world, we’re not here to honor the dead. Or not only. By the grace of God and the quick reactions of those individuals sitting around me, we don’t have a lot of those to honor. Today, instead of merely mourning those that we’ve lost, we’re here to celebrate those that we didn’t.

“Christine Hernandez, who in a few weeks, will get to watch her oldest daughter graduate from college. The first in their family. Samuel Cho, who last winter married the love of his life. Michelle Thompson, age seventeen, who was at the mall last year because she skived off of school. Today, she’s in a tight competition to be her class valedictorian.”

At that, the child in my belly gives a great heave, as if to remind me that he, or she, has happened too in the time that’s passed since the event. I place a comforting hand on top of it, and silently assure him/her that they could never be forgotten. 

At five months along, I’m in the sweet spot of pregnancy. Not yet so uncomfortable that I once again suffer from insomnia, but with most of the miserable early pregnancy side effects out of the way.

I had a small panic attack when I realized I was pregnant. Not because this baby would be in any way unwanted. I could already picture Jackson with his hands on my belly, talking to his unborn child. But because of the way Harriet’s pregnancy ended, I was frozen with fear that this time it would kill us both. I don’t think I can survive another near-death experience, no pun intended. Arizona quickly assured me, though that just because I almost died with Harriet doesn’t mean that I’m going to do it again. The panic hasn’t left my system since the positive sign appeared on that stick, but the right amount of panic is to be expected with parenthood, and I have Jackson to ease my mind whenever my fears get too loud.

I spent thirty days at an inpatient treatment facility dealing with my emotional fall out after I broke down in the ED that day. Or what I thought was the fallout of the event. In reality, my breakdown, if that’s what you want to call it, was years in coming. I suffered a trauma when I lost Samuel, and instead of taking the time to heal as I should have, I put myself into a war zone. And instead of taking the time to heal after that, you guessed it; I jumped right back into life as if nothing had ever happened. Again, and again.

My therapist says she’s impressed I didn’t completely lose my shit a decade ago. She was less than impressed when I tried to compare myself to one of my comic book heroes. Told me to think about how better well-adjusted Black Widow would have been if she’d had talk therapy. Now, if a panic attack hits me or a nightmare tries to sneak up, I center myself and ride out the wave.

Daniel squeezes my hand, and I focus my attention just in time to hear them mention my name. I must have zoned out longer than I thought because we’re almost at the end now.

I rise from my spot between Daniel and Rick and turn back to look at Jackson. His smile, calm and supportive in the middle of my whirlwind of emotions, anchors me back into my skin, and I slowly make my way to the podium.

“Good morning, everybody. I tried, desperately, to get out of speaking today. However, I was horribly outvoted. So, I apologize in advance.”

That gets me a little chuckle and helps loosen me up some.

“Together, we experienced what we call in the medical field a Mass Casualty Event or a Mass Casualty Situation. That’s any situation where medical assistance and resources are required, and the amount needed supersedes the aid available. A casualty, of course, is the person or thing caught up in the event. 

“I’d been a part of many of those situations in my career, both as an emergency physician and as a trauma surgeon for the Army. But I’d never been a part of one as an active participant. Only as a part of the cleanup crew. I never realized that the casualties kept happening long after the event is deemed over.

“I struggled, after the events of last year, as I’m sure most of us did. For weeks, I focused on everything this shooting had taken from me while trying to forget the shooting ever happened. I lost my calmness in the face of chaos. In its place, I gained anxiousness and terror. I lost the ability to watch TV outside of the Disney Channel. Every loud noise and bang made me tense up, ready for battle. Simple pleasures like movies were a casualty taken by the shooting.”

As I speak, I look out at the people in front of me. So many of them were there with us that day, and I see them nodding their heads and looking around at the others doing the same. 

“I lost sleep to nightmares and cold sweats. That was a casualty taken by the shooting. As any parent of a toddler will tell you, sleep is a much-needed commodity.”

That gets me a sea of laughter, and I feel some of the tension that has built up in my body slowly start to dissipate. 

“By the end, I lost what it felt like to be me. I even lost my husband. I was alive, but _I_ was still a casualty taken by the shooting.”

I didn’t want to do this today. My therapist swore that it would be good for me. To share everything that this event has forced upon me. I went into today kicking and screaming, but I see her out there in the audience, and I’m afraid I’m going to owe her a thank you after all of this is said and done.

“Now let me tell you what I gained. I gained the surety that I was meant to be a doctor and the joy of knowing that I was doing God’s work. I gained the knowledge that no matter what life throws at us, we can persevere! I gained friends”—and I can’t resist turning to look at Rick and Daniel. Daniel, who is looking at me with such fierce pride on his face that I feel mine reply in kind—“who will be with me for the rest of my life. To steal from my favorite TV show, ‘The night may be dark and full of terrors, but the morning will rise again, and with it comes the sun’. 

“And in losing my husband—” At this, I stop and turn to make eye contact with Jackson one more time, “In losing my husband, I rediscovered my soul mate. I lost myself for a while, that’s true, but I discovered I had a family who was more than willing to hold me up until I could stand on my own again.”

I have to clear my throat, and the crowd starts to clap and cheer, giving me the support that I need to push through to the end. 

“Here we are, Seattle. One year post-event. Happier, stronger, and most importantly, together. We faced the worst humanity had to offer, and together, we came out the other side. We stand here today together to say that we will no longer be a statistic about another Mass Casualty Event. We will no longer be defined by our trauma. From here on out, when the world mentions the residents of Seattle, they are not to mention what we’ve lost, but celebrate what we’ve gained.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was a year in the making. It started out as Japril Fanfiction. Morphed into a self-published series, was then picked up by a publisher, and is now back on A03 in all it's Japril glory. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It's still my favorite. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading with me today! If you like what you read, follow me at
> 
> Amandafayebooks.com  
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